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AN  EMBASSY  TO  PROVENCE 


AN   EMBASSY 
TO  PROVENCE 


BY 


THOMAS  A.  JANVIER 


s6ci  d6u  felibrige 


;'J7>if^>>>, 


i-3^ 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1893 


Copyright,  1893,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


THE  DE  VINNE  PRESS. 


TO 

C.  A.  J. 


THE    NEW   TROUBADOURS 

(AVIGNON,  1879) 

They  said  that  all  the  troubadours  had  flown, — 
No  bird  to  flash  a  wing  or  swell  a  throat ! 
But  as  we  journeyed  down  the  rushing  Rhone 
To  Avignon,  what  joyful  note  on  note 

Burst  forth  beneath  thy  shadow,  O  Ventour! 

Whose  eastward  forehead  takes  the  dawn  divine: 
Ah,  dear  Provence !  ah,  happy  troubadour. 
And  that  sweet,  mellow,  antique  song  of  thine ! 

First  Roumanille,  the  leader  of  the  choir. 

Then  graceful  Matthieu,  tender,  sighing,  glowing, 
Then  Wyse  all  fancy,  Aubanel  all  fire. 

And  Mistral,  mighty  as  the  north-wind's  blowing; 
And  youthful  Gras,  and  lo !  among  the  rest 
A  mother-bird  who  sang  above  her  nest. 

Richard  Watson  Gilder. 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 


PART   FIRST 


HAD  we  not  g-one  roundabout  through  de- 
vious ways  in  Languedoc — being  thereto 
beguiled  by  the  flesh-pots  of  Collias,  and  the 
charms  of  the  ducal  city  of  Uzes,  and  a  proper 
desire  to  look  upon  the  Pont  du  Card,  and  a 
longing  for  the  shade  of  an  illusive  forest  — 
we  might  have  made  the  journey  from  Nimes 
to  Avignon  not  in  a  week,  but  in  a  single  day. 
Had  we  made  the  journey  by  rail,  taking  the 
noon  express,  we  could  ha\e  covered  the  dis- 
tance in  three  minutes  less  than  a  single  hour. 
The  railroad,  of  course,  was  out  of  the  ques- 
ti(jn.  Geoffroi  Rudel,  even  in  the  fever  of  his 
longing  to  take  ship  for  Tripoli,  aiul  there 
breathe  out   his   life  and   love  tocfcther  at   liis 


2  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

lady's  feet,  never  would  have  consented  to 
travel  from  Bordeaux  to  Cette  by  the  rapide. 
To  me,  a  troubadour's  representative,  the  ac- 
credited Ambassador  of  an  American  poet  to 
his  friends  and  fellows  of  Provence,  the  rapide 
equally  was  impossible.  Strictly,  the  nice  pro- 
prieties of  the  case  required  that  I  should  go 
upon  my  embassy  on  horseback  or  on  foot. 
Consideration  for  the  Ambassadress,  however, 
forbade  walking;  and  the  only  horses  for  hire 
in  Nimes  were  round  little  ponies  of  the  Ca- 
margue,  not  nearly  up  to  my  weight — smaller, 
even,  than  El  Chico  Alazan  :  whose  size,  in 
relation  to  my  size,  was  wont  to  excite  derisive 
comment  among  my  friends  in  Mexico.  The 
outcome  of  it  all  was  that — compromising  be- 
tween the  twelfth  and  the  nineteenth  centu- 
ries—  we  decided  to  drive. 

By  a  friend  in  whom  we  had  every  confi- 
dence, we  were  commended  to  an  honest  liv- 
ery-man, one  Noe  Mourgue.  It  was  ten  in 
the  morninor  when  we  went  to  the  stables. 
Outside  the  door  a  lithe  young  fellow — a  Cata- 
lonian,  with  crisp  black  hair,  a  jaunty  black 
mustache,  and  daredevil  black  eyes — was 
rubbing  down  a  horse.  To  him  we  applied 
ourselves. 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  3 

"M'sieu'  Noe  is  absent  upon  an  affair,"  the 
Catalan  replied.  "He  is  a  witness  at  the  Pa- 
lais de  Justice.  It  is  most  provoking".  But  he 
surely  will  return  at  noon.  That  is  of  neces- 
sity—  it  is  his  breakfast  hour.  Even  a  court 
of  justice  is  not  so  barbarous  as  to  keep  a  man 
from  liis  breakfast.      Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

We  looked  at  carriai^es  in  the  remise  —  it 
all  was  delightfully  like  Yorick,  and  tlie 
"desoblicreant,"  and  Monsieur  Dessein  —  but 
found  nothinor  to  serve  our  turn.  The  Cata- 
Ian  cheered  us  with  the  assurance  that  pre- 
cisel)-  what  we  wanted  would  come  in  that 
very  night.  At  the  moment,  he  explained, 
a  commercial  gent  had  it  upon  the  road.  It 
was  a  carriage  of  one  seat,  with  a  hood  which 
could  be  raised  or  lowered,  and  in  the  rear 
was  a  locker  wherein  m'sieu'-madame  could 
carry  their  samples  with  great  convenience. 
It  was  in  constant  request  among  commercial 
folk,  this  carriage  —  not  because  of  its  elegance, 
but  because  of  its  comfort:  it  ran  so  smoothly 
that  driving  in  it  was  like  a  dreani! 

A  little  after  noon  we  returned  to  the  sta- 
bles. The  Catalan  had  vanished,  and  the 
only  live  thing  visible  was  a  very  old  dog 
asleep  on   a  truss  of  straw  in   the   sun.       The 


4  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

dog  slowly  roused  himself,  and  gave  an  aged 
bark  or  two  without  rising  from  his  place ; 
whereupon  a  woman  came  down  the  spiral 
stair  from  the  dwelling-place  above.  She  was 
in  a  fine  state  of  indignation,  and  replied  to 
our  question  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the 
proprietor  hotly.  "The  breakfast  of  M'sieu' 
Noe  is  waiting  for  him,"  she  said.  "It  has 
been  waiting  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  If  he  delays  another  instant  the  whole 
of  it  will  perish !  What  are  these  judges 
thinking  of  that  they  keep  an  honest  man 
from  his  breakfast?  It  is  an  outrage!  It  is 
a  crime  !  " 

Even  as  she  thus  wrathfully  delivered  her- 
self, Noe  returned;  but  with  so  harried  and 
hungry  a  look  that  't  was  plain  this  was  no 
time  to  make  a  bargain  with  him.  We  as- 
sured him  that  our  matter  did  not  press ; 
bade  him  eat  his  breakfast  in  peace,  and  to 
take  his  time  over  it ;  and  to  come  to  us, 
when  it  was  ended,  at  our  hotel  —  the  Cheval 
Blanc. 

When  he  presented  himself,  a  couple  of 
hours  later,  he  was  in  the  most  amiable  of 
moods,  and  our  bargain  was  struck  briskly. 
Provided,  he  said,  that  we  took  the  horse  and 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  5 

carriacre  for  not  less  than  a  week  —  here  I  in- 
terpolated  that  we  should  want  it  for  a  con- 
sieierably  longer  period — we  should  have  it 
for  six  francs  a  day  ;  and,  also,  monsieur  was 
to  pay  for  the  food  of  the  horse.  Nothing- 
could  be  more  reasonable  than  these  terms. 
We   accepted   them   without  more   words. 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  horse  does  monsieur 
require  ?  " 

Monsieur  rephcd  that  he  required  simply 
a  good  average  horse;  neither  a  sheep,  nor 
yet  a  wild  bull. 

"  Ah,  the  Ponette  is  precisely  the  animal 
suited  to  monsieur's  needs.  She  is  a  brave 
beast!  Perhaps  monsieur  will  not  think  her 
handsome,  but  he  will  acknowledge  her 
worth  —  for  she  is  wonderful  to  go!  He  must 
not  hurry  her.  She  is  of  a  resolute  disposi- 
tion, and  prefers  to  do  her  work  in  her  own 
way.  P)Ut  if  monsieur  will  give  her  her  head, 
she  will  accomplish  marvels  —  forty,  even 
fift)-,  kilometers  in  a  single-  day."  And  as 
to  the  carriage,  Monsieur  Noe  declared 
brief!)-    that    it    was    fit    for   the    Pope. 

The  e\c(-llent  Noe,  be  it  remembered, 
came  to  us  fresh  from  tlu;  Palais  de  Justice. 
and  lh<:  strain  ol  dcli\(:ring  himsdl  under 
1* 


6  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

oath.  We  caught  his  veracity,  as  it  were, 
on  the  rebound.  There  was  truth  in  his 
statement,  but  the  percentage  of  this  element 
was  not  high.  The  Ponette,  stocky,  stoHcl, 
did  have  a  considerable  amount  of  dull  en- 
durance ;  but  she  was  very  much  lazier  than 
she  was  long.  The  carriage  did  run  easily, 
for  its  springs  were  relaxed  with  age ;  but  it 
was  quite  the  shabbiest  carriage  that  I  ever 
saw. 

In  truth,  when  this  odd  outfit  came  to  the 
door  of  the  Cheval  Blanc,  the  next  morning, 
I  had  grave  doubts  as  to  the  propriety  of 
making  use  of  it.  Had  the  matter  concerned 
myself  alone,  I  should  not  have  hesitated  so 
much  as  a  single  instant.  In  small  affairs  I 
am  no  stickler,  beino-  well  enouMi  content  to 
dispense  with  forms,  provided  I  can  compass 
substantialities.  My  position,  however,  was 
not  personal,  but  representative ;  and  as  a 
diplomat  I  was  especially  bound  to  respect 
what  an  eminent  legal  writer  has  termed  "the 
salutary  but  sanctionless  code  called  the  corri- 
ity  of  nations" — being  that  courteous  and 
friendly  understanding  by  which  each  nation 
respects  the  laws  and  usages  of  every  other, 
so  far  as  this  is  possible  without  prejudice  to 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  7 

its  own  interests  and  rights.  \\\)iild  not  the 
discourtesy,  not  to  say  downright  unfriendli- 
ness, of  associating-  the  Embassy  with  a  con- 
veyance so  hopek;ssly  undignihed,  I  asked 
myself,  traverse  both  the  spirit  and  the  letter 
of  this  code?  And  1)\'  acce[)ting-  it,  would  I 
not  tlu'refore  imperil  the  success  of  my  Mis- 
sion at  its  very  start  ?  Truly,  't  was  as  vexing- 
a  problem  as  ever  an  ambassador  just  starting 
on  his  travels  was  forced  to  solve. 

Importunately,  one  of  the  troubadours  of 
Nimes  happened  along  just  then,  and  put 
heart  into  me.  He  had  conie  to  see  us  off 
upon  our  journey,  and  had  brought  to  each 
ol  us,  t(jr  a  farewell  offering,  a  poem  in  Pro- 
vencal. The)- were  ex([uisite,  these  little  lays; 
and  especially  did  the  soul  of  thirtc^enth  cen- 
tury song  irradiate  the  one  entitled  "  U)io 
rcsponso''  —  which  was  addressed  in  what  I 
am  confident  was  purely  imaginative  rc-pl)- 
to  a  strictly  non-existent  "  Nourado,"  on  tlu? 
a]jsoliit(-ly  baseless  assumption  that  she  had 
asked  him,  "  \\' hat  is  Lo\c;  ?  "  1  state?  the; 
case  with  this  handsome  series  of  ([ualilying 
negations  because  —  this  troubadour  being  a 
stout  gentleman,  rising  sixty,  most  hai)ijily 
married    to    a    cliarminL''    wile  —  the    inlerence 


8  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

that  his  verses  indicated  a  disposition  to  em- 
ulate the  divided  allegiance  of  Bernard  de 
Ventadour  is  not  tenable.  But  that  Bernard 
would  have  been  proud  to  own  this  delicately 
phrased  and  gracefully  turned  poem  will  sur- 
prise no  one  learned  in  the  modern  poetry  of 
Provence  and  Languedoc  when  I  add  that  its 
writer  was  Monsieur  Louis  Bard. 

When  we  had  accepted  gratefully  his  of- 
fering of  lays,  I  opened  to  him  my  doubts  in 
regard  to  the  fitness  of  our  equipage ;  which 
doubts  he  resolved  promptly  by  quoting  from 
the  rules  laid  down  for  the  guidance  of  trou- 
badours (and,  therefore,  for  the  embassadors 
of  troubadours)  by  Amanieu  de  Sescas,  a 
recognized  past-master  in  the  arts  of  love 
and  war.  A  proper  troubadour,  according 
to  this  Gascon  authority  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  must  have  "a  horse  of  seven  years 
or  more,  brisk,  vigorous,  docile,  lacking  no- 
thing for  the  march."  Monsieur  Bard  de- 
clared that  the  Ponette  fulfilled  these  several 
conditions,  excepting  only  that  of  briskness, 
to  a  nicety.  "  Take  care  never  to  wear  a 
ripped  garment,"  wrote  the  Sieur  de  Sescas; 
"better  is  it  to  wear  one  torn.  The  first 
shows   a   slovenly   nature ;    the   second,   only 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  9 

poverty."  ApphiiiL;"  this  rule  to  the  car- 
riage, Monsieur  Bard  pointed  out  that  while 
the  slits  in  the  leather  were  many,  the  rips 
were  insignificantly  few.  And  in  triumphant 
conclusion  he  tjuoted :  "  There  is  no  great 
merit  in  being  well  dressed  when  one  is  rich  ; 
but  nothing  pleases  more,  or  has  more  the 
air  of  good  breeding,  than  to  be  ser\iceably 
dressed  when  one  has  not  the  wherewithal  to 
provide  fine  attire." 

As  our  friend  knew,  this  summing  up  of  the 
matter  fitted  our  case  to  a  hair.  More  than 
satisfied  with  his  reasoning,  I  ordered  the 
valise  to  be  stowed  in  the  locker  (in  lieu  of 
the  samples  which  the  Catalan  had  expected 
us  to  carry  there)  ;  we  mounted  into  our 
chariot ;  our  poet  bade  us  God-speed ;  the 
Ponette  moved  forward  sluggishly  —  and  the 
Embassy  was  under  way  ! 


II 


OuK  fu'st  intention  had  been  to  drive  direct 
to  A\ignon  ;  and  we  did,  in  fact,  go  out  from 
Nimes  b)-  the  A\ignon  road.      I)Ut  there  was 


lo  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

not  the  least  need  for  hurry  :  the  troubadours 
of  Provence  did  not  even  dream  that  an 
American  embassy  was  on  its  way  to  them ; 
there  was  no  especial  reason  why  we  should 
be  anywhere  at  any  particular  time.  And 
out  of  these  agreeable  conditions  came 
quickly  our  decision  to  drift  for  a  while  along 
the  pleasant  ways  of  Languedoc,  taking  such 
happiness  as  for  our  virtues  should  be  given 
us,  before  we  headed  the  lazy  little  Ponette 
eastward,  and  crossed  the  Rhone. 

The  tiny  ducal  city  of  Uzes  seemed  to  be 
a  good  objective  point ;  and  it  was  the  more 
alluring  because  on  the  way  thither — at  the 
village  of  Collias,  on  the  Gardon  —  was  an 
inn  kept  by  one  Bargeton,  at  which,  as  we 
knew  by  experience,  an  excellent  breakfast 
could  be  obtained.  It  was  the  breakfast  that 
settled  matters.  At  St.  Gervasy  we  turned 
northward  from  the  highway  into  a  cross- 
country road,  a  chemin  vicinal ;  passed 
through  the  rocky  garrigite  region,  and 
down  to  the  river  through  a  canon  that 
seemed  to  have  gone  adrift  from  the  Sierra 
Madre  ;  crossed  the  Gardon  by  a  suspen- 
sion-bridge, and  so  came  into  Collias  an  hour 
after  noon. 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  ii 

On  a  very  small  amount  of  structural  capi- 
tal, the  inn  at  Collias  supports  no  less  than 
three  names.  ^Moni^  the  end  of  it  is  painted 
in  large  letters  "Cafe  du  Midi";  aloni^-  the 
front,  in  larger  letters,  "Hotel  Bargeton " ; 
over  the  main  entrance  is  the  enticing  leg- 
end "  Restaurant  Parisien."  Our  previous 
visit  had  been  upon  a  Sunday.  Then  the 
establishment  was  crowded.  Now  it  was 
deserted.  As  we  drove  through  the  arched 
gateway  into  the  courtyard  the  only  living 
creatures  in  sight  were  a  flock  of  chickens, 
and  two  white  cats  with  black  tails.  All  the 
doors  and  windows  were  tight  shut — for 
breakfast  long  since  was  over,  and  this  was 
the   time  of  da\-  di\  incl\-  set  apart  tor  sleep. 

The  noise  of  our  wheels  aroused  Monsieur 
Bargeton.  Presently  a  door  opened,  and  he 
slowly  thrust  forth  his  head  and  stared  at  us 
drowsily  and  doubtfully.  Then,  slowl)',  he 
withdrew  his  head  and  closed  the  door. 
P'rom  the  fact  that  some  minutes  elapsed  be- 
fore he  came  forth  in  liis  shirt-sleeves,  we 
inferred  that  at  his  lirst  semi-appearance  his 
attire  had  been  even  less  complete. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  speaking  in  an  injured 
tone,   "breakfast  can  be  had,  ol  course.      ImiI 


12  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

it  will  not  be  a  good  breakfast,  and  it  will 
not  be  ready  soon.  The  time  for  breakfast  is 
long  past.     Everything  must  be  prepared." 

Fortunately,  the  end  was  better  than  this 
bad  beginning  promised.  As  he  unharnessed 
the  Ponette  and  stabled  her,  he  shook  off  a 
little  of  his  slumbrous  heaviness  and  his  dis- 
position toward  us  grew  less  severe.  The 
old  woman  whom  he  summoned  to  his  coun- 
sels, from  some  hidden  depth  of  the  house, 
put  still  more  heart  into  him.  After  a  con- 
ference with  her,  while  we  sat  on  a  stone 
bench  beneath  a  tree  in  the  courtyard,  he 
came  to  us  with  a  statement  full  of  encour- 
aeement.  It  was  all  riMit  about  the  break- 
fast,  he  declared.  Monsieur  and  madame 
should  be  served  with  an  omelet  and  sau- 
sages and  fried  potatoes ;  and  then  he  came 
again  to  say  that  monsieur  and  madame 
should  have  a  good  cutlet  and  a  salad  ;  and 
yet  later,  with  triumph,  he  announced  that 
there  was  a  melon  for  the  dessert. 

It  was  our  fancy  to  have  our  breakfast 
served  on  the  great  stone  table  in  the  court- 
yard. Monsieur  Bargeton  did  not  approve 
of  this  arrangement — the  table,  he  said,  was 
only  for  teamsters  and  such  common  folk — • 


AX    EMBASSY     TO    rRUXENCl::  13 

but  lie  \icklc,'cl  the  point  ^racctull)-.  Over 
one  end  of  the  tal)le  he  spread  a  clean  w  hite 
cloth  ;  set  torth  a  service  of  clean,  coarse 
chinaware ;  brought  us  \  ery  fair  wine  in  a 
wine-cooler  improvisc;d  from  a  watering-pot, 
and  then  the  omelet  was  served,  and  our  feast 
began. 

No  teamsters  came  to  interfere  with  us. 
The  onl)-  suggestion  of  one  was  a  smart 
black  wagon,  on  which,  in  gilded  letters,  was 
the  legend  :  "  Kntrepot  de  Bieres,  Uzes." 
While  we  were  breakfasting,  the  beer-man 
came  out  from  the  inn.  hitched  up  his  horse, 
and  drove  awa\".  lie  seemcLl  to  be  surprised 
to  find  us  eating  there  beside  his  wagon  — 
but  he  said  never  a  word  to  us,  and  never  a 
word  tlid  we  say  to  him.  The  black-tailed 
white  cats  breakfasted  with  us,  the;  boldest 
of  them  jumping  up  on  the  far  end  of  the 
table,  beyond  the  limits  of  the  cloth,  and  eat- 
ing a  bit  of  cutlet  witli  a  triil\  daint)'  and 
catlik(!  grac(t  ;  and  while  oiu"  meal  went  for- 
ward a  delightful  oUl  woman  in  a  white  cap 
and  a  blue  gown  made  a  pretext  of  picking 
up  sticks  near  b)-  that  she  might  gaz('  at  us 
with  a  stealth)'  wonder.  It  all  seemed  like  a 
bit    out    of    a    picture;     and     when     Monsieur 


14  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

Bargeton,  thoroughly  awake  and  abounding 
in  friendhness,  came  flourishing  out  to  us  with 
the  coffee,  we  assured  him  that  never  had  a 
breakfast  been  more  to  our  minds. 

Not  until  four  o'clock  —  after  an  honest 
reckoning  of  eight  francs  and  fifty  cen-times 
for  our  own  and  the  Ponette's  entertain- 
ment—  did  we  get  away  ;  and  evening  was 
close  upon  us  as  we  drove  slowly  up  the  hill 
whereon  is  the  very  high-bred  and  lovable 
little  city  of  Uzes. 


Ill 


We  had  hoped  that  three  days  of  absolute 
rest  in  Uzes  would  have  put  a  trifle  of  spirit 
into  the  Ponette ;  but  this  hope  was  not  re- 
alized. She  came  forth  from  her  pleasant 
pastime  of  eating  her  head  off  in  Monsieur 
Bechard's  stables  in  precisely  the  same  dull, 
phlegmatic  condition  that  she  went  in.  It 
was  impossible  to  force  her  to  a  faster  gait 
than  a  slow  jog-trot.  Left  to  herself — in  ac- 
cordance with  her  owner's  fond  suggestion  — 
she  instantly  fell  into  a  lumbering  walk.  But 
her  loitering  disposition  was  so  well  in  accord 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  1$ 

with  our  own  tluit  wc  foiiiul  lilllc  fault  in  her 
nioiuuncntal  slowness.  There  could  he  no 
L^reater  happiness,  wc?  thouL;ht,  than  thus  to 
oo  idlinL;"  along  through  that  lo\  ely  countr)-  in 
that  bri^'ht  weather  while  our  hearts  were  as 
liii^ht  within  us  as  tlu-  summer  cla\s  were  lon^'. 

The  hii^"hwa\-  leading'  eastward  from  Uzes 
served  our  purposes  lar  too  directly  for  us 
to  follow  it.  A  minor  road  —  goini;'  around 
b)-  the  northeast  to  another  road,  which  ran 
south  to  a  third  road,  which,  douhliuL;-  on  our 
course,  ran  west  a^ain  —  afforded  a  circuitous 
line  of  approach  to  the  Pont  du  (lard  that 
was  much  more  to  our  liking'.  Naturally, 
after  having  carefully  looked  out  this  route 
upon  the  map,  and  after  having  decided  con- 
siderately to  follow  it,  wc  abandoned  it  for 
something  that  we  believed  to  be  better 
before  we  had  gone   half  a  dozen   miles. 

Near  the  hamlet  of  Idaux  we  beLran  the 
ascent  of  low  mountains  :  a  very  desolate 
region  ol  slate-grey  rock,  \\\\.h  licrc  and  tlicrc 
patches  of  scrub-oak  {clicne-vcrf)  growing  in 
a  meagre  soil.  lie)()nd  Idaux,  off  to  the 
right  among  the  oak-bushes,  went  a  most 
tempting  rf)ad.  According  to  the  map  it 
was  a  chcniin  dcxploiiation.      Precisely  what 


i6  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

meanine  attached  to  this  term  I  did  not  know 
(I  found  out  a  Httle  later)  ;  but  the  road  pos- 
sessed the  obvious  merit  of  leading  directly 
across  the  mountain  to  the  village  of  Vers, 
and  thence  the  highway  went  onward  to  the 
Pont  du  Gard.  Setting  aside  as  irrelevant 
the  fact  that  we  had  come  out  of  our  way  for 
the  express  purpose  of  prolonging  our  jour- 
ney, we  decided  to  commit  ourselves  to  this 
doubtful  pathway  for  the  good  reason  that  it 
was  a  short  cut. 

We  had  gone  but  a  little  way  along  it 
when  we  met  a  carter  (a  treacherous  person, 
whose  apparent  kindliness  cloaked  a  malevo- 
lent soul)  whose  deliberate  statement  that 
the  road  was  passable  set  us  entirely  at  our 
ease.  He  himself  had  but  just  come  from 
Vers,  he  said ;  and  he  gave  us  careful  direc- 
tions that  we  might  not  miss  the  way :  We 
were  to  ascend  the  mountain,  and  to  continue 
across  the  little  plain  that  there  was  on  top 
of  it,  until  we  came  to  a  tall  stone  post  at  a 
fork  in  the  road.  This  was  a  sign-post,  but 
in  the  course  of  years  the  inscription  upon  it 
had  weathered  away.  At  this  post  we  were 
to  take  the  turn  to  the  right  —  and  then  we 
would  be  in  Vers  in  a  twinkling. 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  17 

After  we  left  this  betra)ing-bcacon  of  a 
carter  the  road  rapicll)-  L;rc\v  rougher,  aiul 
the  growth  of  scrub-oak  on  each  side  of  it 
became  so  thick  as  to  be  ahnost  impene- 
trable. The  four  or  five  bare  Httle  stone 
houses  oi  Maux  were  the  last  which  we  saw 
in  a  stretch  oi'  more  than  six  miles.  It  was  a 
most  dismal  solitude,  having  about  it  that  air 
of  brooding  and  portentous  melancholy  which 
I  have  found  always  in  rugged  regions  desert 
even  of  little  animals  and  birds. 

We  came  slowly  to  the  plain  upon  the 
mountain  top,  and  to  the  sign -post  whereon 
there  was  no  sio-n  ;   and  there  we  took,  as  the 

O 

perfidious  carter  had  directed,  the  turning  to 
the  right.  The  road  ran  smoothly  enough 
across  the  plain,  but  the  moment  that  it 
tipped  down-hill  it  became  very  bad  indeed. 
Before  we  had  descended  a  dozen  rods  it  was 
no  more  than  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain 
stream,  cumbered  with  boulders  and  broken 
by  rock)-  ledges  of  a  foot  high,  down  which 
the  carriage  went  with  a  series  of  appalling 
bumps.  To  turn  about  was  impossible.  On 
each  side  of  the  stream  —  I  prefer  to  speak  of 
it  as  a  stream  —  the  scrub-oak  grew  in  a 
thick    tan-jlc    into    which    the    Ponette    could 


i8  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

not  have  thrust  so  much  as  her  snubby  nose. 
So  narrow  was  the  watercourse  that  the  oak- 
bushes  on  each  side  brushed  against  our 
wheels.  We  were  in  for  it,  and  whether  we 
wanted  to  or  not  our  only  course  was  to  keep 
on  bumping  down  the  hill.  In  my  haste,  I 
then  and  there  cursed  that  carter  bitterly ; 
and  I  may  add  that  in  my  subsequent  leisure 
my  curse  has  not  been  recalled.  That  he 
counted  upon  finding  our  wreck  and  estab- 
lishing a  claim  for  salvage  I  am  confident. 
He  may  even  have  been  following  us  stealth- 
ily, waiting  for  the  catastrophe  to  occur.  It 
is  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  that  his  perni- 
cious project  was  foiled.  By  a  series  of  mira- 
cles we  pulled  through  entire  ;  on  the  lower 
reaches  of  the  mountain  the  stream  became 
a  road  again ;  and  as  we  swung  clear  from 
the  bushes — getting  at  last  safe  sea-room  off 
that  desperate  lee-shore — we  saw  the  houses 
of  Vers  before  us,  not  a  mile  away. 


IV 


Vers   is   a  very   small   town,    certainly   not 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  across,  but  in  the 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    I'ROVENXE  19 

course  of  our  attempt  to  traverse  its  tangle 
of  streets — all  so  narrow  that  our  carriage 
took  up  almost  the  entire  space  between  the 
houses,  and  all  leading  down-hill  —  we  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  hopelessly  lost.  We  de- 
scended upon  the  town  at  about  five  in 
the  afternoon ;  at  which  peaceful  hour  the 
women-folk  were  seated  before  their  open 
doors,  in  the  shade  of  the  high  houses,  mak- 
ing a  show  of  knitting  while  they  kept  up 
a  steady  buzz  of  talk.  Many  of  them  had 
helpless  babes  upon  their  la[)s,  and  innocent 
little  children  were  playing  about  their  knees. 
Our  passage  through  the  town  even  at  a 
walk  would  have  occasioned  a  considerable 
disturbance  of  its  inhabitants.  Actually,  we 
spread  consternation  among  them  by  dash- 
ine  throuufh  the  narrow  streets  almost  at  a 
run.  This  extraordinary  burst  of  speed  on 
the  i)art  of  the  Ponette — the  only  sign  of 
spirit  that  she  manifested  during  our  whole 
journe)-  —  was  due  to  extraneous  causes. 
Just  as  we  entered  the  town  a  swarm  of 
vicious  flies  settled  upon  her  sensitive  under- 
parts,  biting  her  so  savagely  that  they  drove 
her  ([uit(;  wild  with  j)ain.  ¥ov  a  moment  she 
stopped,  while  she   made-   inelfectual  kicks   at 


20  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

her  own  stomach  ;  then  she  darted  forward, 
and  all  my  strength  was  required  to  keep  her 
off  a  run.  The  women  and  children  shrieked 
and  fled  from  our  path ;  bolting-  into  their 
houses  and,  most  fortunately  for  all  of  us, 
taking  their  chairs  in  with  them  and  so  leav- 
ing us  a  clear  course.  At  the  little  graiide 
place  I  took  what  looked  like  the  right  turn, 
but  it  really  was  a  doubling  upon  our 
course  —  and  in  a  minute  more  we  were 
charging  down  the  very  same  street  again, 
scattering  the  crowds  assembled  to  talk 
about  the  cyclone  and  to  gaze  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  it  had  gone.  As  these  peo- 
ple had  their  backs  turned  toward  us,  it  was 
only  by  a  miracle  that  they  escaped  alive. 
This  time  I  took  another  turn  from  the 
grande  place — grazing  a  young  woman  car- 
rying a  baby  as  I  rounded  the  corner ;  skil- 
fully swinging  the  Ponette  away  from  an 
open  door  that  she  seemed  bent  upon  enter- 
ing ;  and  then  forward  among  a  fresh  lot  of 
women  knittino-  and  talkino-  at  their  ease. 
The  Ponette  seemed  to  be  quite  crazed. 
Twice  I  succeeded  in  almost  stopping  her, 
while  I  tried  to  ask  my  way  out  of  that  little 
devil  of  a  town  ;   and  each  time,  in  the  midst 


AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE  21 

of  the  answer,  she  made  vain  kicks  at  her 
hickless  stomach,  and  then  dashed  forward 
hke  a  simoom.  Had  I  been  driving  a  night- 
mare the  situation  could  not  have  been 
worse. 

A  l)rave  old  man  rescued  us.  While  I 
held  in  the  Ponette  hard,  he  seized  her 
bridU;;  and  when  he  had  calmed  her  by 
brushing  awa)'  the  tormenting  flies,  and  I 
had  explained  that  we  were  lost  and  had 
begged  him  to  guide  us  to  the  highway,  he 
smiled  gently  and  in  a  moment  had  led  us 
out  from  that  entangling  maze.  The  dis- 
tance to  the  highway  proved  to  be  less  than 
two  score  yards  —  but  then  he  knew  what 
turns  to  take  in  that  most  marvelously 
crooked    town  ! 

In  m\-  gratitude  I  offered  the  old  man 
mone)-.  Me  refused  to  accept  it:  "I  cannot 
take  monsieur's  silver,"  he  said  pcjlitely. 
"  Alread)  I  am  more  than  paid.  In  all  the 
sevent)'  )-ears  of  m\  life;  here  in  Vers,  mon- 
sieur is  the  \'er\-  hrst  who  has  been  lost  in  my 
little  town.  It  is  most  interesting.  It  is 
(Miough  !  " 

In  this  ])osili<)n  he  was  linn.  I  thaid^etl 
him     again,     warml),    and    we     drove    away. 


22  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

When  we  had  gone  a  short  distance,  I  looked 
back.  He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  or-azinsf  after  us.  His  face  was  wreathed 
in  smiles. 


In  going  from  Vers  to  the  Pont  du  Gard, 
and  thence  to  Remoulins,  we  were  compelled 
to  travel  by  the  great  highways  ;  but  in  go- 
ing from  Remoulins  to  Avignon  we  fell  once 
more  into  roundabout  courses:  taking  a  7'oute 
nationale  north  to  the  village  of  Valliguieres, 
that  thence  we  might  go  east  by  a  cross- 
country road  which  traversed  a  forest,  ac- 
cording to  the  map,  and  therefore  promised 
protection  from  the  blazing  rays  of  the  Au- 
gust sun.  On  the  map,  this  Foret  de  Tavel 
made  a  fine  showing.  On  the  face  of  nature, 
the  showing  that  it  made  was  less  impressive. 
In  fact,  when  we  reached  it  we  found  that  we 
had  come  a  full  half-century  too  soon.  For 
four  or  five  miles  we  drove  across  rocky  hills 
more  or  less  covered  with  oak-bushes,  which 
in  time,  no  doubt,  will  become  trees.  But  of 
trees  actually  grown,  we  saw  in  this  distance 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  23 

precisely  six.  Unfortunately  they  were  scat- 
tered at  intervals  of  half  a  mile  or  more  apart. 
They  would  have  been  more  impressive, 
would  better  have  realized  our  crude  Ameri- 
can conception  of  a  forest,  had  they  been  in 
a  L;roup. 

It  was  because  of  our  tlctour  in  search  of 
the  shade  of  trees  which  had  only  a  carto- 
t^raphical  existence  that  our  coming-  to  the 
hills  bordering  the  Rhone  westward  was  de- 
layed until  late  in  the  afternoon ;  and  the 
Ponette  walked  up  the  long  ascent  so  slowly, 
and  so  frequently  halted — with  a  persuasive 
look  over  her  shoulder  that  could  not  be  re- 
fused—  that  wlum  at  last  we  reached  the 
crest  the  sun  was  hanging  low  on  the  hori- 
zon above  the  summits  of  the  Cevennes. 

On  the  hilltop,  with  a  sigh  of  thankfulness, 
the  Ponette  stopped  ;  and  for  a  while  we  did 
not  urge  her  to  go  forward.  Below  us,  in 
purple  twilight,  lay  the  Rhone  valley:  here; 
widcl\'  extended  b\-  its  junction  willi  tlie  \al- 
]e\-  of  the  Hurance.  On  its  larllier  sith;  were 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Alps,  with  Mont  X'entour 
standing  boldly  forward  and  rising  high  into 
the  radiant  u])]:)(;r  regions  of  th(;  air.  Near 
at  hand,    down    in    the   |)iirple   shatlows,   close 


24  AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

beside  the  river,  was  a  dark  mass  of  houses 
and  churches,  sharply  defined  by  surrounding 
ramparts :  from  the  midst  of  which  a  huge 
buildinor  towered  to  so  orreat  a  hei^jht  that 
all  its  upper  portion  was  bathed  in  sunshine, 
while  its  upper  windows,  reflecting  the  nearly 
level  sunbeams,  blazed  as  with  fire.  And  we 
knew  that  we  were  looking  upon  Avignon 
and  the  Palace  of  the  Popes ;  and  our  hearts 
were  filled  with  a  great  thankfulness — be- 
cause in  that  moment  was  realized  one  of  the 
deep  longings  of  our  lives. 

The  Ponette,  with  the  carriage  pushing 
behind  her,  went  down  the  zigzag  road,  Les 
Angles,  at  an  astonishing  trot ;  but  pulled  up 
to  her  normal  gentle  pace  on  the  level  be- 
fore we  reached  the  bridge,  and  crossed  that 
structure — over  which  a  sarcastic  sign  for- 
bade her  to  gallop  —  at  an  easy  crawl.  We 
did  not  try  to  hasten  her  pondering  footsteps, 
being  well  content  to  approach  slowly  this 
city  of  our  love  :  seeing  below  us  the  Rhone 
tossinof  like  a  little  sea  ;  on  each  side  of  us, 
in  the  central  portion  of  the  passage,  the 
green  darkness  of  the  Isle  Barthelasse  ;  off  to 
the  left  the  surviving  fragment  of  the  bridge 
built  seven  hundred  years  ago  by  St.  Benezet 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    rROVEN'CE  25 

of  blessed  memory  ;  in  Iront  ot  us  the  hiii'h 
houses  of  the  city  risin^-  above  their  encir- 
cHnc;-  wall.  Slowly  we  went  onward,  and  in 
the  dusk  of  early  eveninor  ^ve  entered  Avig- 
non by  the  Porte  de  I'OuUe. 


VI 


Wk  liad  intended  going  to  a  modest,  low- 
priced  hotel  —  "un  peu  a  lecart.  mais  recom- 
mande,"  as  the  guide-book  put  it — in  the 
central  portion  of  the  town.  The  civic  guard 
who  halted  us  at  the  gate  —  to  request  our 
assurance  that  our  light  luggage  contained 
nothing  upon  which  the  octroi  had  a 
claim  —  gave  us  with  the  good  will  of  a  true 
Provencal  the  most  precise  directions  as  to 
how  this  hotel  was  to  be  reached.  Having 
thus  dirccLcd  us.  \\v.  said  frankly  tliat  we 
probal)!)-  would  get  lost  on  tlu;  wa)'  tliithcr  ; 
but  added  that  a!i)l)od\-  wlioui  we  met  would 
be  glad  to  set  us  on  our  course  anew.  This 
warning,  and  a  single  glanc{;  into  the  lab)- 
riiith  before  us,  deterniinc(l  mc"  against  the 
aiKcntun.'.      After   our  experiences   in   Vers  — 


26  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

and  Avignon  was  to  Vers  as  a  haystack  to  a 
wisp  of  hay  —  I  had  no  fancy  again  to  try 
conchisions  with  a  maze ;  and  I  was  the 
more  easily  seduced  from  this  dangerous  en- 
deavor by  finding,  not  a  dozen  rods  within  the 
city  walls,  the  friendly  open  gateway  of  an  inn. 

It  was  the  Hotel  de  I'Europe,  the  most 
magnificent  establishment  in  Avignon ;  the 
hotel  to  which,  above  all  others,  we  had  de- 
cided that  we  would  not  go.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  I  drove  the  hopelessly 
vulgar  Ponette  and  our  shabby  carriage 
through  the  arched  gateway  and  across  the 
courtyard  to  the  main  entrance.  The  gcrant 
received  us  coldly ;  the  waiters,  in  evening 
dress,  regarded  us  with  an  open  disdain. 
Even  the  stable-boy,  called  to  lead  the  Po- 
nette to  her  quarters,  manifested  a  sense  of 
the  indignity  put  upon  the  establishment  by 
interrupting  my  orders  as  to  oats  with  a  curt, 
"  But  yes,  m'sieu'  ;  I  know,  I  know,"  and 
going  off  with   his   nose  ranged   well   in  air. 

It  came  upon  us  with  a  shock,  this  show 
of  scorn.  In  the  little  towns  where  we  had 
halted  during  the  week  that  our  journey  had 
lasted  we  everywhere  had  been  well  re- 
ceived.    At    Tavel,    where    we    had    break- 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVKNCE  27 

fasted  that  \cr)-  clay  ('t  was  a  \illaue  that 
I  had  hesitated  about  entering  in  such  poor 
arra\-  because  of  the  sign  at  its  outer  Hmits  : 
"A  Tavel  la  mendicite  est  interdite")  our 
host  had  vohmteered  the  handsome  state- 
ment that  the  Ponette  was  a  brave  beast 
wilh  legs  of  iron  ;  and  he  had  spoken  in 
tones  of  conviction  which  left  no  room  for 
doubting  that  his  admiration  for  her  was  sin- 
cere. But  at  Tavel,  and  through  the  whole 
of  that  happ)'  week,  we  had  been  among  the 
simple  children  of  nature  ;  in  coming  to  the 
Hotel  de  I'Europe,  as  we  now  sharply  real- 
ized, we  once  more  were  in  touch  with  that 
highly  conventionalized  phase  of  civilization 
known  arl)ilrarily  as  Societ)-,  and  were 
subject    to    its    artificial    laws. 

As  we  were  led  to  our  gilded  and  red- 
velvcted  apartment — with  a  man  in  waiting 
to  brush  the  Ambassador's  rusty  coat,  and  a 
maid  to  bring  hot  water  for  the  Ambassa- 
dress—  I  could  not  but  feel  a  shuddering 
dr(;ad  that  my  mission  might  prove  a  failure 
after  all!  What  if  the  i^r()ven(;al  poets  should 
resent  —  (nen  as  the  arrant  and  the  waiters 
so  ()b\i()usl)-  resented  —  tlie  lowly  state  in 
which  lh('  American   l"jnbass\-   had  come  ? 


PART   SECOND 


H.WIXCi  l)L'cn  s\va\-ccl  l)y  considerations 
parti)-  diplomatic  and  jjartly  personal, 
the  Embassy  had  gone  from  America  to  Pro- 
vence by  a  route  which  gave  it  no  opportu- 
nity, so  to  speak,  for  changing  cars.  Diplo- 
matically, the  hope  was  entertained  that  by 
thus  ignoring  all  other  nations  and  jM'incijjali- 
ties  a  more  favoral)le  impression  would  be 
made  upon  the  high  poetic  Power  to  which  it 
was  accredited.  Personally,  the  danger  was 
recognized  that  if  the  Embassy  —  being  by 
nature  errant — were  given  large  0})[)<)rtuni- 
ties  to  stra)',  years  might  elapse  before  it 
arri\ed  at  its  destination  ;  to  say  nothing  of 
the  jK)Ssibilit\-  that  it  might  ne\-er  get  there 
at  all. 

Under  constraint  ol    these   con\ictions   our 
course  had   been   sha])C(].      (  )ii   a  gre)'  morn- 


30  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

ing  in  April  we  had  taken  ship  at  New  York, 
and  had  ghded  out  through  the  grey  mists 
which  enveloped  the  harbor  into  the  grey 
waste  of  the  Atlantic.  Grey  weather  clung 
to  us.  Mist  overhung  the  land  when  at  last 
we  sighted  it,  and  Cape  St.  Vince-nt  and 
Cape  Trafalgar  loomed  large  through  a  cold 
haze ;  when  we  passed  the  Rock,  the  base 
whereof  was  hidden  in  a  mass  of  cloud,  that 
considerable  excrescence  upon  the  face  of 
nature  seemed  to  have  started  adrift  in  the 
upper  regions  of  the  air ;  mist  clung  about 
the  lower  levels  of  the  east  coast  of  Spain, 
hiding  the  foundations  of  the  snow-capped 
mountains  and  leaving  only  their  gleaming 
crests  defined  against  the  cold  sky  ;  even  the 
Gulf  of  Lyons  was  chill  and  grey.  And  at 
the  end  of  all  this,  in  a  flood  of  May  sun- 
shine, Marseilles — in  its  glow  and  glory  of 
warm  color — burst  upon  us  like  a  rainbow- 
bomb. 

From  Marseilles  to  Avignon,  by  the  rapidc, 
the  journey  is  made  in  precisely  two  hours. 
The  time  consumed  by  the  Embassy,  how- 
ever, in  its  passage  between  these  points  was 
three  months  and  four  clays.  I  mention  this 
fact  in   order  to   exhibit   in   a  favorable  light 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  31 

our  wisdom  in  choosinor  ^  direct  route  across 
the  Atlanlic.  Had  wc  made  our  landing 
at  an)-  port  on  the  northern  coast  of  Eu- 
rope, with  the  consequent  beguiUng  oppor- 
tunities for  hiteral  tra\'el  which  then  would 
have  opened  to  us,  I  am  confident  that 
even  now  we  would  l)e  working  our  way 
southward  amidst  enticing  wintls  and  luring 
currents  toward  oiu-  still  far  distant  goal. 
It  was  only  our  firmness  in  resisting  at  the 
very  outset  all  these  attractive  possibilities 
that  in  the  end  brought  us  to  Avignon  in 
what,  I  think,  was  a  reasonabl)-  short  space 
of  time. 

Aside,  h()we\er,  from  the  [)redilection  of 
the  Embassy  for  devious  rather  than  direct 
wa\s,  there  were  large  considerations  of  pol- 
icy which  made  advisable  a  slow  advance 
iV(jm  Marseilles  ncM'thward.  I'^or  the  ade- 
([uate  discharge  of  our  mission,  it  was  very 
necessar)',  before  presenting  our  credcMitials 
and  opening  official  relations  with  the  j)oets 
ol  Pro\-ence,  that  we  should  enlarge;  our 
knowledge;  of  thcmscKcs,  their  literature, 
and  their  land.  In  truth,  our  limd  ot  igno- 
rance touching  all  these  matters  \astly 
exceeded    <»iir    timd    ol     inlorinalion  —  a    huk 


32  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

of  equipment  for  which  I  should  be  disposed 
to  apologize  were  it  not  so  entirely  in  keep- 
in  of  with  all  the  traditions  of  American 
diplomacy. 

Our  whole  store  of  knowledge  was  no 
more  than  a  mere  pinch  of  fundamental  facts : 
that  about  the  end  of  the  third  decade  of  the 
present  century  a  poet  named  Joseph  Rou- 
manille  had  revived  Provencal  as  a  literary 
language ;  that  to  this  prophet  had  come,  as 
a  disciple,  Frederic  Mistral,  who  presently 
developed  into  a  conquering  and  convincing 
apostle  of  the  new  poetic  faith  ;  that  to  these 
two  had  been  gathered  five  other  poets  ;  that 
the  seven,  all  dwelling  in  or  near  Avignon, 
had  united — about  the  middle  of  the  cen- 
tury—  in  founding  a  brotherhood  of  Proven- 
cal poets  to  which  they  gave  the  name  of 
the  Felibrige ;  that,  in  the  course  of  years, 
this  brotherhood  had  come  to  be  a  great  so- 
ciety with  branches,  or  affiliated  organiza- 
tions, in  various  parts  of  France  and  even  in 
Spain.  But  of  the  poetry  which  these  poets 
had  written  we  knew  nothing  at  first  hand. 
We  had  not  seen,  even,  either  of  the  English 
versions  of  Mistral's  "  Mireio  " — the  one  by 
Miss  Harriet  W.   Preston,  the  other  by  Mr. 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  33 

Charles  Grant.  In  short  the  attitude  of  the 
Embassy  toward  Provencal  hterature  was  as 
handsomely  unprejudiced  as  could  be  induced 
by  a  liberally  extensive  ignorance  of  essential 
facts. 


II 


Ox  the  other  hand,  the  Embassy  did  pos- 
sess a  considerable  store  of  knowledge  in 
regard  to  the  group  of  Avignon  poets  per- 
sonally ;  and  all  of  it  tended  to  induce  a 
prejudice  of  a  most  kindly  sort. 

Eleven  years  before  our  mission  was  de- 
spatched, the  American  troulxidour  whoni  we 
represented  had  made  a  poet's  pilgrimage  to 
Avignon,  and  had  been  taken  ('t  is  a  way 
they  have  in  Avignon)  promptly  to  his  brother 
poets'  hearts.  How  unexpected  and  how  de- 
lightful had  been  his  experience  best  may  be 
exhibited  b)'  a  citation  from  the  record  made 
at  the  time  by  the  historian  to  the  expedi- 
tion—  who  thus  wrote,  under  date  of  the  8th 
and  loth  of  Ajjril,   1S79: 

"We  ha\(!  made  a  great  discoxery — a 
'nest'  of  Pro\enr:al  poets,  all  li\ing  and  writ- 
3 


34  AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

ing  here  at  Avignon.  Our  own  poet  spent 
the  morning  with  them  yesterday,  and  came 
home  bringing  an  armful  of  their  books;  from 

which,  last  evening,  H read  us  some  of 

the  translations,  which  are  very  charmin^T 
One  of  the  poets  is  Mr.  Bonaparte-Wyse,  an 
Irishman  and  a  cousin  of  Napoleon  III.  He 
makes  this  his  home  for  a  part  of  the  year, 
and  writes  the  poetry  of  Provence.     .     .     . 

"  We  had  a  most  interesting  day  yester- 
day. The  little  company  of  poets  ('  felibres  ') 
have  united  in  doing  honor  to  our  poet  and 

H .      They  came,  brought  by  Mr.  Wyse, 

their  interpreter,  to  invite  us  to  a  '  felibri- 
jado' — a  meeting,  a  dinner,  speeches,  poems, 
songs,  everything  delightful.  We  had  been 
to  Vaucluse  for  the  afternoon  —  on  our  way 
home  passing  Mont  Ventour  with  its  snowy 
peaks,  and  the  hills  with  their  olive-trees  and 
cypress  dark  against  a  pale  golden  sky.  It 
was  evening  when  we  reached  the  hotel  and 
found  them  all  waiting  for  us  in  the  little 
square  dining-room. 

"  Mr.     Wyse     presided     at     dinner,     with 

H and    the    Boy    beside    him :'    H 

wearing  a  bunch  of  starry   blue   periwinkle, 


AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  35 

the  flower  of  Provence,  in  her  hair.  Oppo- 
site to  them  sat  ^I.  Roumanille  (founder  of 
the  School),  with  our  poet  beside  him ;  and 
for  m)-  neio^hbor  I  had  M.  Mathieu,  the  old- 
est ot  the  poets.  Two  young  men  were  on 
the  other  side :  M.  Gras  and  another  whose 
name  I  do  not  recall.  Each  one  has  a  de- 
vice and  a  name  by  which  he  is  known 
among"  the  '  felibres ' — one  a  'cricket,'  an- 
other a   '  butterfly.' 

"After  dinner  a  cup  of  Chateau-neuf  was 
passed,  and  every  one  in  turn  made  a  speech 
and  gave  a  toast.  We  were  loaded  to  em- 
barrassment with  compliments,  and  our  own 
modest  little  speeches — through  Mr.  Wyse's 
interpretation  —  were  transformed  into  flow- 
ers of  sentiment.  The  Boy,  to  his  delight, 
saw  very  near  him  a  dish  of  his  favorite 
sponge-cakes — of  which  he  sometimes  had 
been  allowed  two  as  a  special  favor  and 
treat,  and  to  wliich  Ik;  had  gI\Lii  ihc  name 
of    'biffies.'      Kind    old    M.     Mathieu    helped 

him  to  these  without  limit — as  H and  I, 

happening  to  look  at  the  dish,  and  seeing  its 
great  diminishment,  suddenly  perceived  to 
our   consternation. 


36  AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

"The  dinner  over,  they  led  us  up  a  dark 
old  stairway  into  a  long  hall,  dimly  lighted, 
at  one  end  of  which  a  little  candle-lit  table 
was  laid  with  coffee  and  delicious  crystal-like 
cordials.  The  hall  had  been,  years  ago,  a 
meeting-place  of  the  Knights  Templar ;  and 
there  were  still  sicjns  remainino-  of  a  little 
chapel  there,  set  apart.  Indeed,  it  all  was 
like  a  little  bit  of  the  middle  ages.  After 
we  had  had  our  coffee,  they  gave  us  their 
songs  and  poems :  one  of  the  younger  men 
stood  up  while  he  sang  a  sort  of  troubadour 
march  to  battle,  his  voice  ringing  through 
the  great  dim  hall.  M.  Roumanille  recited 
some  Christmas  verses,  full  of  fine  solemn 
tones ;  M.  Mathieu,  a  little  poem  with  the 
refrain  Catoiin  !  Catoitn  ! — keeping  time  with 
his  own  airy  gestures  and  waves  of  the  hand 
as  graceful  as  the  lines.  Mr.  Wyse  gave  us 
some  translations  of  Walt  Whitman  into  Pro- 
vencal verse.  Madame  Roumanille,  too,  re- 
peated a  poem  for  us — and  our  own  Poet 
brouofht  some  verses  which  he  had  written  at 

Vaucluse   that   afternoon    and   which    H 

read  in  their  French  translation.  They  gave 
us  some  choruses.  Many  of  their  voices 
were    rich    and    musical.     Then    H re- 


AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  37 

peatcd  for  them  those  hnes  of  Keats,  begin- 
ning" : 

O  for   a  draught    of  vintage,  that  hath  been 
Cool'd  a   long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth, 

Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country-green, 

Dance,  and  Provencal    song,  and  sun-burnt   mirth ! 

and  although  they  could  not  understand  the 
words  they  felt  their  wonderful  melody. 

"It  was  very  late  when  we  went  home 
through  the  quiet  streets,  escorted  b)-  two  or 
three  of  our  entertainers  —  one  of  them  car- 
rying the  Boy.  He  had  been  safely  tucked 
away  in  a  bed  at  the  hotel  after  dinner,  and 
did  not  wake  except  —  his  head  on  his  own 
little  pillow — to  say  once  (still  dreaming  of 
poets  and  sponge-cakes),  '  'Nuff  biffies  ! '  " 

Upon  our  troubadour's  store  of  delightful 
memories  (only  a  part  of  which  are  referred 
to  in  the  foregoing  citation  of  history)  we 
had  drawn  so  often  and  so  freely  that  these 
Provencal  poets  had  come  to  be  to  us  —  while 
as  )et  our  ver)-  existence  was  unknown  to 
them  —  our  own  familiar  friends.  Time  and 
again  \vc:  had  fancied  ourselves  knocking  at 
one  or  another  of  their  doors  in  Avignon; 
and  tlKjrcafler,  as  we  entered,  receiving  the 
3* 


38  AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

welcome  which  we  knew  would  be  given  us 
so  warmly  because  of  our  coming  as  the 
vicars  of  one  whom  they  knew  and  loved. 

And  yet,  being  landed  at  Marseilles,  close 
to  these  friendly  doors  which  we  were  sure 
would  be  standing  wide  for  us  the  moment 
that  our  status  as  ambassadors  was  known, 
we  deliberately  chose  to  make  our  approach 
to  Avignon  by  methods  so  slow  and  by 
courses  so  roundabout  that  we  spent  more 
than  three  months  upon  a  journey  that  could 
have  been  made  in  less  than  three  hours. 


Ill 


Our  tarrying,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  out- 
come of  our  intuitive  perception  of  the  re- 
quirements of  diplomacy.  Those  whom  we 
so  longed  to  know  were  not  mere  ordinary 
men:  they  were  poets.  For  us  to  cast  our- 
selves upon  them  ignorant  of  their  poetry 
would  be  a  grave  discourtesy ;  almost  an 
affront.  Common  politeness,  no  less  than 
our  own  interest,  commanded  that  we  should 
seek  in  their  writings  for  that  understanding 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  39 

of  their  tone  of  thought,  their  purposes,  their 
aspirations,  which  would  enable  us  to  meet 
them  upon  a  common  grround.  And  we  real- 
ized that  hand  in  hand  with  this  study  of 
their  literature  should  go  a  study  of  their 
fellow-countrymen  and  of  the  land  in  which 
they  lived.  For  which  several  reasons  we 
perceived  that  the  case  of  the  Embassy  was 
one  that  required  slowness  in  order  to  assure 
speed. 

At  Marseilles,  in  the  very  first  book-shop 
that  we  entered,  the  very  first  book  that  we 
bought  was  Roumanille's  "Oubreto  en  Vers." 
It  was  to  Roumanille,  the  Capoulie,  the 
head,  of  the  Felibres,  that  the  Embassy 
specifically  was  accredited.  Therefore  was  it 
fitting  that  our  first  purchase  should  be  the 
volume  in  which  his  first  poems  are  in- 
cluded—  the  sparks  of  pure  fire  which  kin- 
dled anew  the  flame  of  Provencal  literature 
in   modern   times. 

The  [X)ems  were;  in  l^'oven^al  onl)-.  There 
was  no  French  translation.  Tortunatel)-  the 
Ambassadress  —  possessing  an  equipment  of 
Spanish,  Italian,  antl  PVcMich.  together  with  a 
certain  skill  in  Latin  —  found  the-  concpiest  of 
this    language    easy  ;    and    the    .Ambassador 


40  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

profited  by  her  gift  of  tongues  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  spirit  of  Roumanille's 
verse.  It  was  a  most  genuine  poetry,  and 
popular  in  the  better  sense  of  that  injured 
word.  With  few  exceptions,  the  themes 
were  of  a  sort  which  country-side  folk  readily 
would  comprehend ;  commonplace  subjects 
made  relishing,  and  at  the  same  time  shifted 
wholly  away  from  the  commonplace,  by  deli- 
cate turns  of  poetic  sentiment  or  an  infusion 
of  genial  humor  or  a  sharp  thrust  of  homely 
wit.  Very  many  of  the  poems  were  homi- 
lies ;  but  so  gaily  or  so  tenderly  disguised 
that  each  went  fairly  to  its  mark  without 
arousing  any  of  that  just  resentment  which 
is  apt  to  annul  the  benefits  supposed  to  be 
conferred  by  homilies  of  the  usual  sort.  It 
was  easy  to  see  in  these  poems  how  and  why 
Roumanille  had  laid  hold  upon  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen.  We  ourselves,  though  los- 
ing much  of  their  rich  flavor  of  local  allusion, 
yielded  instantly  to  the  blending  of  grace, 
freshness,  humor,  manliness,  naivete,  which 
gave  them  so  peculiarly  original  a  charm. 

In  the  same  book-shop  we  found  another 
volume  of  poems  which  greatly  stirred  us : 
"  Lou    Roumancero    Prouven^au "    of    Felix 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  41 

Gras.  In  our  then  ignorance,  we  barely 
knew  this  poet's  name.  But  we  had  read 
no  farther  than  "  Lou  Papo  d'Avignoun " 
and  "Lou  baroun  de  Magalouno  "  when  our 
minds  were  made  up  that  here  was  a  singer 
ot  ballads  whose  tongue  was  tipped  with  fire. 
They  whirled  upon  us,  these  ballads,  and 
conquered  our  admiration  at  a  blow.  We 
knew  by  instinct — what  time  and  greater 
knowledge  have  shown  to  be  the  truth  —  that 
of  all  the  Provencal  poets  whom  we  soon 
were  to  encounter  none  would  set  our  heart- 
strings more  keenly  a-thrilling  than  did  this 
fiery  ballad-maker,  Monsieur  Gras. 

It  was  in  another  book-shop,  the  friendly 
estal)lishment  of  Monsieur  Ik))-s  —  a  shop 
pervaded  b)-  that  delightful  smell  of  musti- 
ness  which,  being  peculiar  to  old  books,  sets 
every  bookman's  soul  on  the  alert  for  the 
finding  of  treasures  —  that  we  came  upon 
Mr.  ( irant's  unrh\-med  English  version  of 
"  Mirei(j";  and  so  were  able  (ha\ing  already 
bought  the  edition  in  which  is  the  author's 
parallel  translation  into  Im-cikIi)  to  cssa)-  the 
reading  of  Mistral's  fu'st  poem  with  the  dou- 
ble advantage  of  his  own  I'Vench  version 
and   of  this   litctral    luiglish   key. 


42  AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

English  and  Provencal,  be  it  remarked,  are 
more  closely  allied  in  genius  than  are  Pro- 
vencal and  French.  They  have  in  common 
an  honest  directness,  a  sonorous  melody,  a 
positive  strength ;  and  even  many  almost 
identical  words  —  for  which  reasons  Proven- 
gal  may  be  resolved  into  English  with  a  close 
approach  to  literal  exactness,  and  with  little 
loss  of  the  essence  of  the  original  phrase. 
Mr.  Grant's  translation  of  "  Mireio,"  it  must 
be  confessed,  is  not  a  brilliant  illustration  of 
these  facts ;  but  in  Miss  Preston's  rhymed 
English  version  of  the  poem  (at  that  time 
unknown  to  us)  many  felicitous  passages 
show  how  successfully  the  soul  and  the  body 
of  the  original  may  be  transferred  into  Eng- 
lish verse. 

But  these  considerations  of  the  verbal 
mechanism  of  translation  came  later.  When 
we  first  read  "Mireio"  we  thought  only  of 
the  poem  itself:  a  perfectly  simple  story  of 
country  life  which  Mistral's  genius  has  ex- 
alted to  the  plane  of  the  heroic ;  an  idyl 
which  rises  from  heip;ht  to  heio-ht  until  it  be- 
comes  a  tragedy ;  a  strain  of  pure  melody 
throughout.  Having  read  it — and  after  it 
"  Nerto,"  "  La  Reino  Jano,"  "  Calendau,"  and 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  43 

the  exquisite  shorter  poems,  "  Lis  Isclo 
d'Or" — we  were  at  no  loss  to  understand 
why  Mistral  is  called  Master  by  his  brethren 
of  the  Felibres. 

Still  another  very  useful  book  did  we  find 
in  a  Marseilles  book-shop ;  one,  indeed, 
which  so  substantially  increased  our  store  of 
necessary  knowledge  that  I  desire  to  place 
formally  on  record  here  my  gratitude  to  its 
author :  Monsieur  Paul  Marieton.  lliis 
book.  "  La  Terre  Provengale,"  is  a  veritable 
treasury  of  information  concerning  the  Fe- 
libres and  all  their  works  and  ways;  a  blend- 
ing of  kindly  personal  gossip — so  frank  and 
so  confidential  that  those  about  whom  the 
author  writes  seem  fairly  to  rise  up  in  the 
flesh  before  the  reader's  eyes — with  a  mass 
of  accurate  statement  in  regard  to  what  these 
celebrities  in  the  world  of  letters  have  ac- 
complished, and  about  the  beautiful  land  in 
which    lliey   live. 

1  did  not  venture  to  hope,  while  I  was 
reading  this  book  with  so  much  satisfaction 
and  also  with  so  much  profit,  that  in  the  full- 
ness of  a  fortunate  time  its  geniall)-  erudite 
author  would  becouK-  m\-  friend  ;  and  I  cer- 
tainly did   not  imagine   (though   this   also  has 


44  AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

come  to  pass)  that  my  life  would  be  made  a 
torment  to  me  by  receiving  from  Monsieur 
Marieton  letters  in  a  handwriting  so  bewil- 
deringly  chaotic  that  to  read  them  requires 
in  every  instance  a  special  inspiration  from 
on  high  ! 

And  so,  through  the  weeks  and  the 
months  which  followed  our  landing  at  Mar- 
seilles, we  added  constantly  to  our  stock  of 
books  and  to  our  store  of  literary  knowledge ; 
while  from  various  points  of  vantage — Mont- 
pelier,  Aries,  Aiguesmortes,  Tarascon,  Beau- 
caire,  Nimes — we  softly  spied  upon  the  land. 
Through  all  this  time  we  found  growing 
within  us  a  stronger  and  yet  stronger  love 
for  a  people  and  a  literature  whereof  the 
common  characteristics  are  graciousness,  and 
manliness,  and  absolute  sincerity,  and  warmth 
of  heart.  And  all  was  so  satisfying  and  so 
entrancing  that  the  three  months  and  four 
days  during  which  we  were  upon  our  journey 
from  Marseilles  to  Avignon  seemed  to  us  no 
more  than  a  single  bright  spring  morning: 
wherefore,  as  we  sank  to  rest  that  night 
amidst  the  excessive  gilding  and  red  velvet 
of  the  Hotel  de  I'Europe,  we  counted  the 
evening    of  our   coming   to   Avignon  —  as   it 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  45 

trul\-  might  have  been  had  we  gone  direct 
from  our  ship  to  the  train  —  but  the  evening" 
of  our  first  day  in  France. 


IV 


Olr  hearts  were  beating  many  more  than 
the  normal  number  of  beats  to  the  minute 
when  we  set  forth  to  deHver  to  the  Capoulie 
of  the  Fehbres  the  credentials  of  our  Em- 
bassy. 

These  credentials  —  therein  following  prim- 
iti\e  Mexican  customs — were  wholly  pictorial. 
They  consisted  simply  of  four  photographs: 
of  the  American  troubadour  whom  we  rep- 
resented ;  of  his  dame ;  of  their  children ; 
of  their  great  dog.  My  instructions  were  to 
present  these  empowering  documents  to 
Roumanillc,  in  his  official  capacity  as  Ca- 
poulie of  lli('  belibres,  and  to  tell  him  that 
with  them  came  the  love  of  those  to  whom 
love  had  been  given  b)'  the  poets  of  Pro- 
vence ele\en  years  before.  And  I  was  to  add 
that  in  America  still  were  cherished  warm 
and  grateful  memori(,-s  of  those  glad  evenings 


4.6  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

in  the  old  house  (the  abiding-place  of  the 
Templars  in  Queen  Jano's  time)  where  the 
poet  Anselme  Mathieu  in  most  unbusiness- 
like fashion  carried  on  the  business  of  inn- 
keeping  :  when  the  corks  flew  out  in  mellow 
cannonading  from  old  bottles  of  precious 
Chateau-neuf  du  Pape,  wine  consecrate  to 
the  felibrien  festivals ;  when  all  the  poets 
wrote  poems  to  their  brother  from  afar ; 
when  the  ancient  vaulted  hall  of  the  Tem- 
plars rang  with  the  echoes  of  iambic  laugh- 
ter, and  with  the  choruses  of  Provengal  songs. 
Knowing  that  English  was  a  sealed  lan- 
guage to  Roumanille,  I  ventured  to  add  to 
my  pictorial  credentials  some  written  words 
which  had  the  appearance  of  being  English 
verse.  The  sentiments  embodied  in  these 
supposititious  verses  would  stand  translation 
into  French  prose  creditably ;  and  I  had  the 
more  confidence  in  their  kindly  reception 
because  the  Ambassadress  had  encompassed 
them  with  a  decorative  border  of  olive- 
branches,  amidst  which  were  blazoned  the 
arms  of  Avignon  and  of  our  own  country 
together  with  the  emblem  of  the  Felibres,  a 
cigale.  This  illusive  manuscript  being  in- 
closed in  the  official-looking   envelop  which 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    TROVENCE  47 

contained  the  empowering  photographs,  the 
Embassy  moved  out  in  good  order  from  its 
too-magnificent  quarters,  and  with  a  becom- 
ing dignity  advanced  upon  Roumanille's 
book-shop    in    the    Rue    St.   Agricol. 

From  tile  Hotel  de  FEurope  to  tlu;  Rue 
St.  Agricol  is  a  walk  of  but  five  minutes. 
As  we  rounded  the  corner  from  the  Rue 
Joseph  Vernet,  we  saw  our  Mecca  before 
us  —  plainly  marked  by  a  sign  on  which  was 
the  legend  in  tall  )ellow  letters:  "  Rouma- 
nille.  Librairie  Provengale."  Here,  together, 
Roumanille  had  both  his  shop  and  his  home. 
Directly  across  the  street  was  the  church  of 
St.  Agricol,  wherein,  in  reverent  faith,  this 
good  old  man  worshiped  through  so  many 
years. 

The  door  of  the  shop  stood  open.  We  en- 
tered into  a  bookman's  paradise.  The  room, 
large  and  lofty,  was  packed  with  books  from 
floor  to  ceiling;  books  were  spread  out  upon 
tables ;  books  were  on  nearl)-  every  chair ; 
boxes  of  books  and  piles  of  books  encum- 
bered the  floor.  In  the  midst  of  this  l)il)1i()- 
graphic  jungle,  at  a  desk  e\er\  where;  littered 
with  books  and  pai)ers,  sat  RouinanilK?  him- 
self :     a    sturd)-,     thick-set     in.tn     of    inediiiin 


48  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

height;  gray  hair;  beard  and  mustache 
dipped  short  and  grizzled  almost  to  white ; 
fresh  complexion ;  kindly  light-brown  eyes 
twinkling  humorously  under  bushy  gray 
brows  ;  a  racy  and  at  the  same  time  a  very 
sweet  and  winning  smile. 

He  rose  slowly,  and  in  accepting  the  pack- 
age, and  in  listening  to  the  message  that  ac- 
companied it  (which  message  the  Ambassador 
prudently  delivered  through  the  medium  of 
the  Ambassadress),  he  manifested  so  marked 
a  hesitation  as  to  strengthen  our  already 
aroused  fears  that  the  Embassy  might  be  re- 
jected by  the  power  to  which  it  came.  Later, 
when  cordial  relations  were  fully  established, 
he  explained  matters.  What  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  Ambassador  (who  by  some 
twist  of  atavism  has  reverted  to  the  type  of 
his  ancestors  of  three  hundred  years  ago, 
dwellers  in  almost  this  very  part  of  France), 
and  the  fluent  French  of  the  Ambassadress, 
his  mind  was  all  at  sea.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  reasonable  connection  between  the  mes- 
sengers, who  apparently  were  his  own  coun- 
try-folk, and  the  message  that  they  brought 
from  friends  who  certainly  belonged  in  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  world.      Not  until  the  mes- 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  49 

sage  had  been  repeated  and  explained  a  Htde, 
and  the  opening  of  the  package  had  discov- 
ered the  well-known  faces,  was  the  whole 
matter  clear  to  him.  And  then  what  a  wel- 
come we  received  ! 

Madame  Roumanille  was  summoned,  and 
their  dautrhters  Mademoiselle  Therese  and 
Mademoiselle  Jeanne,  to  take  part  in  wel- 
coming the  representatives  of  the  friends  who 
had  come  and  gone  eleven  years  before  — 
but  who  were  remembered  as  freshly  and 
warmly  as  though  their  visit  had  been  upon 
the  previous  day. 

From  the  shop  we  were  led  through  the 
dining-room  to  the  salon  —  a  large  room  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  facing  south  and 
flooded  with  sunshine,  which  gained  individu- 
ality from  delightful  old-fashioned  furniture, 
interesting  pictures  and  curious  antique  bric- 
a-brac,  and  a  Provencal  tambourine  and  pipe 
hung  upon  the  wall.  Instantly  our  photo- 
graphic credentials  were  ranged  along  the 
front  of  the  pianoforte,  and  the  whole  fam- 
ily Ijurst  forth  into  eager  exclamations  and 
questionings. 

"  It  is  Monsi(*ur  and  Madame  to  the  very 
life!  Just  as  the)'  were  eleven  years  ago!" 
4 


50  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

"And  the  children  —  how  lovely  they  are! 
There  was  only  one  then.  Can  it  be  that  it 
was  this  one — this  tall  boy?  Impossible! 
He  was  but  a  baby.     We  gave  him  cakes !  " 

"And  the  gentle  young  lady  who  was  with 
them  —  so  quiet  and  so  sweet.  Why  is  not 
her  photograph  with  these  ?  " 

"Heavens!  How  huge  a  dog!  A  St. 
Bernard  —  is    it    not    so?" 

"Ah,  if  only  it  were  not  their  pictures,  but 
themselves !  " 

Naturally  it  was  the  elders  whose  talk 
was  reminiscent  and  comparative.  When  the 
American  troubadour  came  with  his  train  to 
Avignon,  Mademoiselle  Therese  was  but  a 
slip  of  a  girl,  and  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  was 
but  a  baby  of  two  years  old.  But  we  found 
a  pleasant  proof  of  how  well  the  visit  had 
been  kept  alive  in  the  elders'  hearts,  and  of 
how  much  it  must  have  been  talked  about,  in 
the  fact  that  the  little  Jeanne  was  quite  sure 
that  she  herself  remembered  it  all  very  well ! 

No  one  can  refuse  to  credit  the  people  of 
the  south  of  France  with  warm  hearts.  But 
it  is  customary  with  travelers  of  a  certain 
sort — possessors  of  acrid  souls  encased  in 
thin-blooded    bodies  —  to    seek    an    apology 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  51 

for  their  own  ci'enuine  coldness  by  aspers- 
incf  this  crenuine  warmth  with  such  terms  as 
"impulsiveness"  and  "emotional  efferves- 
cence," and  by  broadly  denying  that  its 
source  is  more  than  a  momentary  blaze. 
Let  such  as  these  observe  that  wc  found 
that  day  in  Avignon  still  burning  warmly 
and  steadily  a  fire  of  friendship  lighted  at 
a  chance  meeting  and  fed  only  by  half  a 
dozen    letters    in    eleven    years ! 


When  these  kindly  souls  in  part  liad  satis- 
fied their  eager  desire  for  news  of  the  Ameri- 
can troubadour  and  of  those  belonging  to 
him,  they  diverted  their  interest  in  a  hospi- 
table fashion  to  his  ambassadors,  and  with  a 
genuine  heartiness  pressed  us  with  questions 
concerning  ourselves. 

They  were  delighted  when  we  told  them 
that  we  had  j)referred  to  shun  Paris,  and  to 
come  directl)-  froni  America  to  their  own 
l)eautiful  city  of  Marseilles ;  and  more  de- 
lighted to  find  that  our  plan   for  a  whole  sum- 


52  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

mer  of  travel  was  a  circuit  of  not  much  more 
than  a  hundred  miles  in  Languedoc  and  Pro- 
vence. As  to  our  method  of  travelinof — in 
the  shabby  little  carriage  drawn  by  the  infi- 
nitely lazy  little  mare — they  set  our  minds  at 
rest  in  a  moment  by  protesting  that  it  was 
nothing  less  than  ideal.  And  then  they  lis- 
tened with  great  sympathy  to  the  narrative 
of  our  small  adventures  by  the  way  since  our 
departure  from  Nimes,  When  we  came  to 
our  entanglement  in  Vers,  and  the  vast  com- 
motion with  which  our  cyclonic  passage  had 
filled  that  very  little  town,  dear  old  Rouma- 
nille  fairly  held  fast  to  his  comfortably  fat 
sides  and  laughed  until  his  cheeks  were 
a- stream  with  tears.  It  was  better,  he 
vowed,    than    any    farce ! 

When  we  touched  upon  the  more  serious 
side  of  our  undertaking,  our  desire  to  study 
the  new  literature  that  in  these  latter  days 
had  blossomed  so  vigorously  in  Provence, 
their  interest  took  a  correspondingly  serious 
turn ;  and  the  pleasure  that  our  purpose 
gave  them  obviously  was  deep  and  grave. 

Roumanille  was  gratified  when  we  told  him 
that  his  "  Oubreto  en  Vers"  was  the  corner- 
stone of  our  Provengal  library  ;   the  book  that 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  53 

we  had  bought  lirst  of  all.  Speaking  of  it 
naturally  brought  to  our  minds  the  other  vol- 
ume that  we  had  bought  in  the  same  shop 
and  on  the  same  day,  and  in  very  emphatic 
terms  we  expressed  our  admiration  for  "  Lou 
Roumancero  Prouvengau,"  and  for  its  author, 
Monsieur  Felix  Gras.  Before  our  eulogy 
was  half  concluded  the  entire  family  broke 
in  upon   us   in   chorus. 

''  Mo)i  frcrc/"  from  Madame. 

"  J/on  bcaii-frcrc !  ^'   from  Roumanille. 

''Moil  oiicler'  from  the  oirls  tog-ether. 

Mademoiselle  Jeanne  sprang  up  and 
brought  us  a  photograph  of  this  dear  uncle. 
"Ah!"  she  said,  "you  must  hear  him  sing 
his  poems — then  you  will  know  what  they 
reall)-  are  !  " 

This  discovery  that  we  had  in  France,  as 
well  as  in  America,  a  common  center  of  af- 
fection brought  our  hearts  still  more  closely 
together ;  it  was  almost  as  though  we  had 
disco\ered  —  as  was  not  impossible — a  rela- 
tionship of  blood. 

In  truth,  all  this  warm  friendliness  stirred 
me  curiousl)-.  More  and  more  the  feeling 
was  pressed  in  upon  me  that  I  was  return- 
ing—  after  a  long,  long  absence  —  to  m\-  own 


54  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

people  and  my  own  home.  A  like  feeling 
surprised  me  when  I  first  drifted  across  our 
southwestern  border  and  found  myself  among 
the  semi-Latins  of  Mexico;  but  the  feeling 
was  far  stronger — from  the  very  moment  of 
my  landing  in  Marseilles — among  these  my 
kinsfolk  of  the  Midi.  Truly,  I  was  of  them. 
The  old  tie  of  blood  was  revived  strenuously 
by  the  new  tie  of  affection.  Notwithstanding 
the  two  centuries  of  separation,  in  coming 
back  to  them  I  was  coming  home. 


VI 


In  the  evening  of  this  happy  day  these 
new  friends  of  ours — who  already  seemed  to 
be  such  old  friends — carried  us  with  them 
to  the  pleasure-place  dear  to  every  soul  in 
Avignon,  but  especially  dear  to  the  Felibres : 
the  Isle  de  la  Barthelasse. 

Through  the  narrow  streets  we  walked 
too;-ether:  Roumanille  bubbling  over  with 
wit ;  Madame  abounding  in  kindliness ;  the 
demoiselles  like  merry  little  birds.  They 
apologized   (quite   as   though   it  were  a  per- 


AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE  55 

sonal  matter)  because  there  was  no  moon  — 
and  we  assured  them  that  no  apology  was 
necessary ;  that  we  were  more  than  satisfied 
with  the  mellow  radiance  of  the  Provence 
stars. 

The  Isle  de  la  Barthelasse  extends  aloni;- 
nearh'  the  whole  front  of  Avignon  in  the 
middle  of  the  Rhone.  From  the  high  cause- 
way crossing  it  (and  so  uniting  the  suspen- 
sion bridges  which  here  span  the  divided 
river)  pathways  descend  to  the  low,  wooded 
island,  but  little  above  the  level  of  the  rapid 
stream.  In  among  the  trees  is  a  restaurant; 
and  in  front  of  it,  directly  upon  the  river-side, 
are  ranged  many  little  semicircular  booths  of 
wattled  cane  —  mere  shelters  against  the 
wind,  which  lie  fairly  open  toward  the  water 
and  have  no  roofs  but  the  sky.  Into  one  of 
these  Roumanille  led  us  —  that  we  elders 
might  have  coffee  and  li(|iiciu"s  together, 
while  the  demoiselles  drank  s)rup  and  water 
as  became  their  fewer  years. 

It  is  the  gayest  and  sweetest  place  for 
merry-making,  this  Isle  dc  la  Barthelasse, 
that  ever  a  poet  found.  Our  booth,  and  all 
the  booths  about  us,  shone  briglu  with  the 
liL^lU  of  candles   giiardcnl  b)-  tall,    bell  shaped 


56  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

glass  shades ;  among  the  trees  gleamed  lan- 
terns, lighting  up  the  winding  paths.  At  our 
very  feet  was  the  dashing  river.  Half  seen 
in  the  starlight,  across  the  tumbling  and 
swirling  dark  water  that  here  and  there  was 
touched  with  gleams  6(  reflected  light,  were 
the  walls  and  the  houses  of  the  ancient  city. 
There  was  a  constant  undertone  of  sound 
made  up  of  the  rustling  of  the  wind  in  the 
branches  above  us,  and  the  gay  chatter  of 
the  river  with  its  banks,  and  the  eurele  and 
hissing  of  little  breaking  waves;  above  this 
confused  murmur,  there  came  floating  to 
us  across  the  water  strains  of  music  from  a 
military  band  playing  on  the  Promenade  de 
rOulle ;  all  around  us  was  a  rattle  of  talk 
and  a  quiver  of  laughter ;  and,  as  the  spirit 
moved  them,  one  or  another  of  our  light- 
hearted  neighbors,  or  a  whole  group  of  them 
together,  would  burst  forth  into  song.  It 
was  as  though  an  opera  had  broken  its  bonds 
of  unreality  and  had  become  real. 

In  keeping  with  our  joyous  surroundings, 
Roumanille's  talk  was  of  the  festivals  of  the 
Felibres ;  and  mainly  of  the  great  annual 
festival  whereof  the  patroness  is  the  blessed 
Sainte   Estelle,  whose  symbol   is  the  star  of 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  57 

seven  rays.  On  this  notable  occasion  the 
four  ijreat  divisions  of  the  organization — 
corresponding  with  the  four  great  dialects  of 
the  Langue  d'Oc  —  are  convened  at  one  or 
another  of  the  towns  of  southern  1' ranee  for 
the  celebration  of  floral  games ;  which  games 
are  competitions  in  l)elles-lettres,  and  derive 
their  name  from  the  fact  that  the  prize 
awarded  to  the  victor  is  a  gold  or  silver  or 
natural  flower.  They  have  come  tripping 
down  lightl)-  through  six  centuries,  these 
games,  being  a  direct  survival  of  trouba- 
dour  times. 

At  the  banquet  which  follows  the  literary 
tournament,  the  sentiment  of  amity  and  com- 
radeship which  is  the  corner-stone  of  the 
organization  is  emphasized  by  the  ceremony 
of  the  loving-cup.  Holding  aloft  the  silver 
vessel — the  gift  of  the  Felibres  of  Catalonia 
to  the  Felibres  of  Provence  —  the  Capoulie 
sings  the  Song  of  the  Cup,  whereof  the 
words  are  by  Mistral  and  the  setting  a  ring- 
ing old  Provencal  air,  antl  iIk;  chorus  is  taken 
up  by  all  the  joyous  company  ;  after  which 
the  cup  is  passed  from  lip  to  li[)  and  hand  to 
hand. 

Willi  due  deference  to  the  m^'stic  iiilhRince 


58  AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

of  their  star  of  seven  rays,  the  FeHbres  cele- 
brate each  recurrnig  seventh  annual  festival 
with  increased  dignity  and  splendor.  Then 
great  prizes  are  contended  for ;  and  the  win- 
ner of  the  chief  prize  wins  also  the  right  to 
name  the  Queen  whose  reign  is  to  continue 
during  the  ensuing  seven  years.  The  re- 
quirements of  the  royal  office  are  youth, 
beauty,  and  faith  in  the  ascendancy  of  the 
Provence  poets'  star.  It  was  at  Mont- 
pelier,  in  1878,  that  the  first  Queen  was 
chosen :  the  bride  of  the  then  Capoulie,  Mis- 
tral. The  second.  Mademoiselle  Therese 
Roumanille,  was  chosen  at  Hyeres,  in  1885. 
We  bowed  to  this  sovereign,  as  Roumanille 
spoke,  in  recognition  of  the  accuracy  with 
which  in  her  case  the  conditions  precedent 
to  poetic  royalty  had  been  observed. 

But  these  light-hearted  poets  do  not  limit 
themselves  in  the  matter  of  festivals  to  times 
and  seasons.  The  joy  that  is  within  them 
may  bubble  up  into  a  festival  at  any  moment ; 
and  when  their  spirits  thus  are  moved,  a  gay 
company,  presided  over  by  seven  ladies  and 
by  seven  poets,  is  convened — as  Boccaccio 
mio-ht  have  ordered  it — in  the  pleasance  of 
some  grassy  and  well-shaded  park. 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  59 

"  Nor  is  even  this  much  of  formaHty  neces- 
sary," said  Roumanille  in  conchision.  "It  is 
a  festival  when  two  or  three  of  us,  or  half  a 
dozen  of  us,  are  met  together — as  we  are 
met  together  now.  Behold !  Madame,  here, 
is  a  Felibressc,  and  I,  I  am  the  Capoulie,  the 
head  of  all.  As  for  Therese,  she  is  our 
Queen.      What   more   would    you   have  ?  " 

And  so,  without  knowinof  it — there  on  the 
Isle  de  la  Barthelasse,  in  the  midst  of  the 
dashing  Rhone  waters,  in  sight  of  the  twink- 
ling lights  of  Avignon  —  we  had  taken  part 
in  our  first  felibrien  festival  ! 


.V,[ 

i  At 


PART   THIRD 


NEARLY  a  month  later,  when  we  were 
estabhshed  in  Avignon  for  a  long  visit, 
wc  took  part  in  another  festival — this  was  in 
Roumanille's  home — whereof  the  motive  was 
our  meeting  with  Felix  Gras.  During  our 
hurried  first  visit  of  only  four  days,  when  we 
were  hurtling  across  the  Midi  at  the  heels  of 
the  Ponette,  Madame  Roumanille's  brother 
was  out  of  town  —  he  is  i\  jiiQC  dc  paix,  and 
his  absence  from  Avignon  was  connected  in 
some  way  with  the  issuing  of  licenses  for  the 
shooting  season,  which  just  then  was  opening. 
They  are  tremendous  fellows  for  shooting, 
the  men  down  there.  Daudet  has  told  al)()ut 
it.  \Vh(;n  lions  are  about,  they  shoot  lions. 
During  the  close  season  for  lions,  they  shoot 
hats.  It  is  all  one  to  them.  They  have  the 
true  feeling.  What  they  care  for  is  the  sport, 
not  the  L-'ame. 


62  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

Fortunately,  when  we  came  again  to  Avi- 
gnon the  shooting  season  was  well  under  way, 
and  the  magisterial  duties  of  Monsieur  Gras 
sat  upon  him  lightly.  It  was  arranged  that 
on  the  second  evening  after  our  arrival  the 
meeting  which  we  so  much  desired  should 
come  to  pass.  Yet  while  we  longed  for  this 
meeting  we  also  a  little  dreaded  it — know- 
ing, by  more  than  one  disheartening  experi- 
ence, that  highly  idealized  personalities  have 
a  tendency  to  come  tumbling  down  from 
their  pedestals  when  encountered  in  the 
flesh ;  and  we  knew  that  if  this  particular 
idol  fell  he  would  fall  a  long  way.  In  the 
interval  since  we  had  read  his  "  Roumancero 
Prouvengau  "  in  Marseilles,  we  had  read  his 
"Tolosa"  and  "  Li  Carbounie."  With  the 
reading  of  these  poems — in  which  he  mani- 
fests his  power  of  sustained  flight,  though 
not  always  with  the  dramatic  fervor  of  the 
shorter  poems  which  had  so  entranced  us — 
the  pinnacle  whereon  we  had  placed  him  had 
grown  perilously  high. 

But  happily,  as  we  came  to  know  that 
evening,  our  ideal  had  not  exceeded  the  re- 
ality. As  fine  and  as  sympathetic  as  his 
poems  is  Felix  Gras  himself     The  gracious- 


AX    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  63 

ness  of  his  person,  his  gentle  nature  that  also 
is  a  most  vigorously  manly  nature,  his  quick 
play  of  wit,  his  smile,  his  voice — all  were  in 
keeping  with,  even  exceeded,  what  we  had 
hoped  to  find. 

He  sang  to  us  some  of  his  own  poems  — 
including,  at  our  earnest  entreaty,  "  Lou 
Baroun  de  IMagalouno"  and  "  Lou  Papo 
d'Avienoun  "  —  set  to  airs  which  have  come 
down  from  troubadour  times :  curiously  vi- 
brant, haunting  airs,  which  fell  away  in  ca- 
dences of  a  most  tender  melancholy,  and  rose 
again  with  a  passionate  energy,  and  were 
pervaded  by  a  melody  sweet  and  strong. 
His  singing  was  without  accompaniment. 
Holding  in  his  hand  a  copy  of  his  "  Rou- 
mancero"  (it  was  our  own  copy,  and  is  beside 
me  now  as  I  write),  he  stood  up  in  the  midst 
of  our  little  company,  and  thrillingly  sang 
forth  his  verses  from  his  heart.  Roumanille, 
his  hands  clasped  comfortably  across  his  well- 
filled  waistcoat,  l)eat  time  softly  to  the  music 
with  his  foot;  and  when  some  passage  es- 
peciall)'  [^leased  liiin  gave  vent  to  his  emo- 
tion—  and  in  this  also  keeping  tlie  timt;  of 
the  song  —  in  a  subdued  utterance;  com- 
pounded   of   a   grunt    and   a    roar.      Madame 


64  AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

Roumanille,  her  beautiful  brown  eyes  glis- 
tening a  little,  regarded  her  brother  with  an 
affectionate  delight,  and  turned  to  us  from 
time  to  time  with  a  sympathetic  smile.  Mad- 
emoiselle Therese  sparkled  with  animation  ; 
and  the  demoiselle  Jeanne  —  who  already  is 
an  accomplished  musician,  with  a  rare  power 
to  command  the  presence  of  sweet  sounds — 
listened  with  a  rapt  expression  in  her  half- 
closed  eyes.  As  for  ourselves,  it  was  as 
though  a  happy  dream  that  we  had  been 
dreaming  of  a  sudden  had  come  true — in  the 
land  of  the  troubadours  we  were  hearing  a 
troubadour  sing  his  own  lays  ! 

We  tried  the  good-nature  of  Monsieur 
Gras  sorely  that  evening.  We  could  not  get 
enough  of  his  music.  We  continued  to  de- 
mand more  and  more.  At  last  Roumanille 
intervened  in  his  brother-in-law's  defense  by 
bringing  up  from  the  cellar  a  rare  old  bot- 
tle of  Mouscat  de  Maroussan  —  a  Frontignac 
which  for  thirty  years  had  communed  with 
its  own  soul  within  the  glass.  As  he  care- 
fully uncorked  it,  and  poured  it  in  a  fine 
stream  into  the  little  glasses,  the  long-impris- 
oned sunshine  seemed  to  escape  from  its 
golden  flow  and  fill,  as  did  its  fragrance,  all 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  65 

the  room.  There  was  to  me  a  grave  dignity 
about  this  wine,  that  had  kept  step  with  me 
in  the  hfe  journey  through  three  quarters  of 
the  way  upon  which  I  had  come.  Doubtless 
Monsieur  Gras  had  much  the  same  feehng". 
But  witli  Roumanillc  tlie  case  was  different — 
he  was  twice  as  old  as  the  Mouscat.  For  all 
of  us  there  was  feeling  of  a  deeper  sort  as  we 
clinked  our  glasses,  and  with  our  lips  drank 
to  each  other  from  our  hearts.  It  means 
much,    this   toast,    in    honest    Provence. 

Already  the  evening  was  far  spent.  When 
we  had  thus  pledged  each  other  in  aromatic 
sunbeams,  we  said  good-night.  What  an 
evenintr  it  had  been  ! 


II 


DuRixc.  this  long  visit  we  saw  Roumanille 
constantly.  Our  quarters  —  in  the  Hotel  du 
Louvre,  the  old  house  of  the  Templars,  where 
the  poet  Anselme  Mathieu  tried  his  hand  at 
inn -keeping — almost  adjoined  the  book-shop 
in  the  Rue  St.  Agricol.  l)Ut  a  single  house 
intervened.  From  our  balcou)'  we  could 
look    down     u[)()n     Roumanille     through     the 


66  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

side-window  above  his  desk ;  we  were  in  and 
out  of  the  shop  a  dozen  times  a  day ;  we 
spent  dehghtful  evenings  in  the  friendly  home 
which  was  opened  to  us  so  freely  ;  Mademoi- 
selle the  Oueen  of  the  Felibres  was  our  truide 
to  the  siofhts  of  Avignon  and  the  Ville  Neuve. 
Our  boxes  of  books  had  followed  us  from 
Nimes  —  coming  by  the  carter,  with  the  le- 
gend on  each  box,  half  warning,  half  appeal : 
"  Craint  rhtimidite" — and  Roumanille  con- 
gratulated us  upon  the  good  luck  that  had 
attended  our  literary  foraging.  Thanks  to 
the  zealous  assistance  of  my  friend  Andre 
Catelan,  there  were  many  treasures  among 
our  two  or  three  hundred  volumes.  During 
our  stay  of  two  months  in  Nimes  we  had  suf- 
fered few  days  to  slip  by  without  spending 
an  hour  or  so  with  the  good  Catelan  in  his 
book-shop  in  the  Rue  Thoumayne — a  little 
shop  packed  with  books  to  the  ceiling,  and 
havinpf  in  its  center  an  island  of  book-cov- 
ered  table  around  which  was  a  channel  so 
narrow  that  only  one  person  could  sail  along 
it  at  a  time.  When,  as  usually  was  the  case, 
Catelan,  Madame  Catelan,  and  'Toinette  all 
were  on  duty  together,  we  were  compelled  to 
sweep  them  ahead  of  us  in  a  procession  as 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    TROVENCE  67 

we  examined  the  shelves.  The  dog-,  whose 
honorable  name  was  Ex  Libris,  had  a  freer 
ranire — inasmuch  as  he  could  o-q  beneath  the 
island  as  well  as  around  it.  The  kitten  (a 
most  energetic  kitten)  was  freest  of  all  — 
scampering  under  the  island,  and  over  its 
book-covered  surface,  and  across  the  shoul- 
ders of  any  one  of  us  who  happened  to  come 
in  her  way.  Of  all  the  old  book-shops  of  my 
acquaintance,  none  is  dearer  to  me  than  this 
in  the  Rue  Thoumayne ;  and  excepting  only 
one  in  the  City  of  Mexico — which  shall  be 
nameless,  for  I  still  am  using  it — none  has 
yielded  me  better  returns. 

As  Roumanille  went  over  our  books  with 
us  they  served  as  texts  for  his  discourse.  All 
of  them  related  to  the  Midi,  most  of  them 
to  Provence  or  to  Languedoc,  and  all  of  mod- 
ern date  were  written  by  men  who  were  his 
acquaintances  or  friends.  His  commentaries 
upon  them  greatly  increased  their  practical 
usefulness,  giving  us  the  personal  factor — 
tlif!  author's  political  or  religious  or  poetical 
bias,  his  reputation  for  care  or  for  careless- 
ness—  which  enabled  us  to  estimate  accur- 
at(.'l)'   the  value  of  the  written  words. 

Roumanille  told  us,   too,  about  the   begin- 


68  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

ning  of  his  life-work,  and  how  that  work  had 
gone  on.  It  was  with  no  thought  of  the  far- 
reaching  consequences  that  he  began  to  write 
in  Provengak  His  sole  motive  was  his  desire 
that  his  mother,  to  whom  French  was  an  un- 
known tongue,  might  be  able  to  understand 
what  he  wrote.  He  was  but  a  lad  of  seven- 
teen, a  teacher  in  the  school  at  Tarascon, 
when  —  writinof  in  French  —  he  first  be^an  to 
dabble  in  verse.  One  Sunday,  when  he  was  at 
home  in  Saint- Remy,  his  mother  said  to  him  : 

"  Why,  Jouse,  they  tell  me  that  thou  art 
making  paper  talk  !  " 

"  Making  paper  talk,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  they  tell  me.  What  is 
it  thou  art  putting  on  the  paper  ?  What  dost 
thou  make  it  say  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  nothing,  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  handsome  Jouse,  it  is  some- 
thing.    Tell  thy  mother  what  it  is." 

But  when  he  recited  to  her  his  French 
verses  she  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and 
sorrowfully  said  to  him :  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand !  " 

"  And  then,"  said  Roumanille,  "  my  heart 
rose  up  within  me  and  cried :  '  Write  thy 
verses  in  the  beautiful  language  that  thy  dear 
mother    knows ! '     That    very   week   I    wrote 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  69 

my  first  poem  in  Provengal,  '  Jeje  ' ;  and,  be- 
ing at  home  again  the  next  Sunday,  I  recited 
it  to  her.  When  she  wept,  and  kissed  me, 
I  knew  that  my  verses  had  found  their  way 
to  her  heart,  and  thenceforth  I  wrote  only  in 
Provencal" 

Did  ever  a  school  of  poetry  more  beauti- 
fully begin  ? 

It  was  in  the  year  1835  that  "Jeje"  was 
written,  and  immediately  was  published  in 
a  little  journal  of  Tarascon,  the  "  Echo  du 
Rhone."  All  the  country-side  was  delighted 
by  this  poem  in  the  home  language ;  and 
Roumanille,  being  thus  encouraged,  rapidly 
followed  it  with  others  of  a  like  sort.  At 
a  stroke,  he  had  achieved  a  popular  success. 

But,  as  he  continued  to  write — in  prose 
as  well  as  in  verse — the  larger  possibilities 
which  might  flow  from  the  revival  of  Proven- 
cal as  a  literary  language  presented  them- 
selves to  his   mind. 

P'or  centuries,  while  the  north  of  France 
had  been  peopled  by  semi-savages,  the  south 
of  France  had  been  the  home  of  a  refined 
civilization.  French  literature  had  its  birth 
h'Tc  in  the  south.  The  traditions  of  that  lit- 
erature, preserved  l)\  the  trou])adours,  were 
not  lost ;   the  descendants  of  the  troubadours 


70  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

Still  lived ;  but  their  songs  were  hushed  be- 
cause the  critics  of  the  north — the  ex-sav- 
ages perched  upon  the  heights  of  their 
recently  acquired  civility — stigmatized  Pro- 
vengal  as  a  dialect  unfit  for  literary  purposes; 
as  a  patois.  Worse  than  this,  with  their 
tacit  acceptance  of  a  foreign  jurisdiction  over 
their  literary  affairs,  the  people  of  Provence 
were  tending — as  were  all  their  countrymen 
of  the  provinces — toward  an  unreserved  ac- 
ceptance of  Paris  as  a  dominating  center :  to 
the  deadening  of  that  local  love  and  local 
pride  in  which  true  patriotism  has  its  strong- 
est roots.  And  at  that  particular  time — the 
seething  years  preceding  the  revolution  of 
1848 — the  sort  of  doctrine,  political  and 
social,  that  was  emanating  from  Paris  was 
to  the  last  degree  subversive  of  the  manly 
qualities  which  are  necessary  to  good  citi- 
zenship, and  to  the  foundation  of  a  stable 
state. 


Ill 


Therefore    was    it    in    the    spirit    of   the 
prophets  of  old  that  Roumanille  settled  him- 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  71 

self  to  his  life-work  :  the  awakenino-  of  a 
dormant  provincial  literature,  and  the  rein- 
vigoration  of  a  sturdy  provincial  manhood, 
which  together  would  constitute  an  effec- 
tive check  upon  the  centralizing  tendency 
whereof  the  object  was  to  focus  in  Paris  the 
whole  of  France.  With  these  facts  under- 
stood, it  is  easy  to  understand  also  why  the 
press  of  Paris  was  united  for  so  long  a  time 
in  denouncing  the  purpose  and  in  deriding 
the  work  of  "the  patois  poets";  whose  me- 
lodious verse,  telling  not  less  imperiously 
than  sweetly  of  the  reawakening  of  that 
beautiful  language  in  which  French  litera- 
ture w^as  born,  was  a  defiant  proclamation 
of  local  rights  as  opposed  to  central  power. 
In  the  broad  sense  of  the  word  political  the 
literary  revival  in  Provence  has  been  a  polit- 
ical force  that  already  has  made  itself  felt 
throughout  the  whole  of  PVance,  and  of 
which  the  future  will  have  much  more  to 
tell. 

na\ing  grasped  the  possibilities  of  the 
situation,  Roumanille  never  lost  sight  of  tlu-m 
nor  ceased  to  work  for  their  realization.  In 
prose  and  in  verse  he  delivered  his  homilies 
—  droll    stories    of    th(;    c()untr)'-sid(',    (|iiaiiU 


72  AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

dialogues  between  country-folk,  poems  of 
country  life,  scintillating  with  a  sharp  wit 
which  ever  was  mellowed  with  a  kindly  hu- 
mor, or  tender  with  a  touch  of  simple  pathos 
that  went  straight  to  the  heart;  and  at  the 
end  always  whipping  out  some  earnest  truth, 
as  though  by  accident,  which  made  in  favor 
of  the  honest  country  life  and  a  manly  mo- 
rality. They  circulated  wherever  the  Pro- 
vencal tongue  was  spoken,  these  sermons — 
in  newspapers,  in  broad-sheets,  in  little  vol- 
umes; and  wherever  they  were  read  the  seed 
which  they  carried  presently  began  to  grow. 
When  Roumanille  published  his  first  collec- 
tion of  poems,  "Li  Margarideto"  ("The 
Daisies"),  his  fellow-countrymen  already 
were  sufficiently  independent  of  Paris  in 
their  opinions  to  be  proud  of  this  their  own 
poet  who  wrote  in  their  own  sweet  tongue. 
Two  years  before  "  Li  Margarideto "  was 
published — that  is  to  say,  in  the  year  1845 
—  a  disciple  was  raised  up  to  this  prophet 
in  the  person  of  Frederic  Mistral.  He  was 
literally  a  disciple,  for  Roumanille  was  a 
teacher  and  Mistral  a  pupil  in  a  school  at 
Avignon  when  the  friendship  was  formed 
between   them   that   was    to  last    throughout 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  73 

their  lives.  Mistral,  a  born  poet,  entered 
with  enthusiasm  into  the  project  for  making 
Provencal  live  again  as  a  literary  language  ; 
and  it  was  he  who  sounded — when,  in 
1859,  he  published  his  "Mir^io"  —  the  first 
strong  poetic  note  which  challenged  the  at- 
tention of  the  Paris  critics;  and  which  sud- 
denl)'  gave  dignity  to  the  whole  movement 
b)-  winning  the  hearty  admiration  of  the 
critic  whose  opinion,  still  respected,  at  that 
time  carried  with  it  an  overwhelming  weight 
of  authority — Lamartine. 

But  the  Provengal  movement,  gaining  force 
steadily,  had  assumed  substantial  shape  five 
years  before  Mistral's  "Mireio"  appeared. 
In  1 84 7  a  fresh  impetus  had  been  given  to  it 
by  the  publication  of  Crousillat's  first  collec- 
tion of  poems.  In  1852  a  congress  of  poets 
was  held  at  Aries,  whereat  poems  were  recited 
]))■  forty  poets  d'Oc — including  Jasmin,  Bel- 
lot,  Castil-Blaze,  Mouc^uin-'landon,  Crousillat, 
Aubanel  and  Mistral;  which  poems,  with  a 
striking  preface  by  Saint- Rene  Taillandi(*r, 
were  gathered  into  a  volume  that  was  pub- 
lished at  Avignon  in  the  same  year.  In 
1 85 3  a  similar  assemblage  was  held  at  Aix; 
and     the    si\t)-(i\'(t     pocniis     recitt-d     at     this 


74  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

gathering  were  published  under  the  title : 
"  Roumavagi  dei  Troubaire,"  Finally,  in 
1854,  came  the  crystallization  —  when,  on  the 
2 1  St  of  May,  being  the  feast  of  Sainte  Estelle, 
the  Felibrige,  the  brotherhood  of  Provencal 
poets,  formally  was  founded  at  Fontsegugne 
by  Joseph  Roumanille,  Frederic  Mistral, 
Theodore  Aubanel,  Anselme  Mathieu,  Jean 
Brunet,   Paul  Giera,   and  Alphonse  Tavan. 

They  were  of  various  estates,  these  seven 
poets.  Roumanille  (he  became  a  publisher 
and  book-dealer  a  year  later)  was  a  proof- 
reader in  the  house  of  the  Seguins ;  Mistral 
was  the  son  of  a  yeoman ;  Aubanel  was  a 
publisher — the  last  in  Avignon  to  bear  the 
official  title  of  "Printer  to  the  Pope";  Ma- 
thieu, who  became  an  inn-keeper  later,  was 
a  vine-grower — and  so  on.  Over  in  Nimes, 
soon  to  become  a  member  of  the  fraternity, 
was  the  baker  Jean  Reboul — to  whom,  being 
dead,  his  fellow  Nimois  have  erected  a  statue 
to  serve  as  a  perpetual  memorial  of  the  glory 
which  his  fame  reflects  upon  their  town.  It 
was  a  poetical  democracy.  The  manner  in 
which  its  members  earned  a  livelihood  was 
immaterial,  for  the  writing  of  poetry  was  the 
real  and  important  business  of  their  lives. 


AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE  75 

On   these   same   lines    the   oro-anization    is 

O 

maintained.  Poetry  is  the  first  and  the  high- 
est consideration  ;  after  that  come  the  ordi- 
nary aftairs  of  hfe.  Thus,  in  his  off  time,  the 
poet  FeHx  Gras  is  a  judge  ;  the  winner  of  the 
hrst  prize  in  the  floral  games  of  1891  at  Car- 
pentras,  Monsieur  Lescure,  devotes  his  leis- 
ure to  charcoal-burning;  Monsieur  Huat, 
when  not  writing  poetry,  is  architect  to  the 
city  of  Marseilles ;  Frere  Savinien,  author  of 
the  Provengal  grammar,  absents  himself 
occasionally  from  the  society  of  the  Muses, 
and  attends  to  his  minor  duties  as  director  of 
the  school  of  the  Christian  Brothers  at  Aries 
—  it  is  the  same  all  down  tlie  line.  Truly, 
the  Felibrige  is  one  of  the  very  noblest  fra- 
ternities in  the  whole  world  ;  the  single,  but 
tremendous,  condition  of  admission  to  the 
ranks  of  its  membership  is  the  possession 
of  an   inspired  soul  ! 

Pnit  underlying  the  poetry  of  these  poets 
is  their  strong  desire  to  foster  a  patriotism 
which  best  can  be  defined  to  American  read- 
ers as  a  love  of  country  based  on  state  rights. 
The  first  article  of  the  constitution  of  1863 
declares:  "The  I'elibrige  is  establishctl  in 
order   tlial    Provence    shall    foi-cxcr    j)reser\-e 


76  AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

her  language,  her  local  color,  her  personal 
charm,  her  national  honor,  and  her  high  rank 
of  intelligence — because,  just  as  she  is,  Pro- 
vence delights  us.  And  by  Provence  we 
mean  the  whole  of  southern  France."  In  the 
existing  constitution  (adopted  in  1876)  the 
wording  is  changed,  but  not  the  substance : 
"  The  Felibrige  is  established  in  order  to  unite 
in  brotherhood,  and  to  inspire,  those  men 
whose  efforts  are  directed  toward  preserving 
the  language  of  the  country  d'Oc,"  Yet  it  is 
in  no  narrow  spirit  that  these  apostles  of  in- 
dividuality carry  on  their  propaganda.  They 
insist  upon  being  individual  themselves,  but 
they  seek  to  encourage  a  like  individuality  in 
others.  Roumanille  spoke  with  the  same 
hearty  satisfaction  of  the  spread  of  the  feli- 
brien  idea  throuofhout  France,  and  even 
into  foreign  countries,  as  he  did  of  its  triumph 
in  Provence. 

In  its  organization,  the  Felibrige  is  practi- 
cal; but  in  its  systems  of  feasts,  its  awards  of 
merit,  its  symbolism,  it  is  poetical  to  a  high 
deeree.  Doubtless  its  beautiful  ritual — a 
large  part  of  which  it  owes  to  its  distin- 
guished Irish  member,  Mr.  Bonaparte -Wyse 
— has  had  much  to  do  with  its  practical  work- 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  ^^ 

ingf  success.  In  all  this  delicate  fancifulness, 
which  so  vividly  reflects  the  poetic  tempera- 
ment, there  is  found  an  irresistible  appeal  to 
poetic  souls.  The  brotherhood  has  substan- 
tial strength  because  flowers  are  its  prizes,  the 
passing  of  the  k)\ing-cup  a  necessary  part  ot 
its  feasts,  Ste.  Estelle  its  patroness,  and  its 
device  her  star  of  seven  rays. 


IV 


It  was  during  our  longer  stay  in  Avignon 
that  we  presented  ourselves  —  formally,  as  an 
Embassy  ;  and  very  informall\-,  as  indixiduals 
—  to  Mistral  at  his  home  in  the  \illage  of 
Maillane.  Close  by  this  village  he  was  born, 
and  here  always,  save  for  short  absences,  he 
has  lived. 

From  Avignon  to  Maillane  the  distance  is 
not  more  than  six  or  eight  miles.  We  made; 
it  half  as  long  again  by  fetching  a  compass 
roundabout  by  way  of  Chateau-Renard — a 
very  ghost  of  a  castle :  its  two  tall,  round 
towers,  and  a  part  of  the  wall  which  once 
stood   solidly  b(;t\vt:en   them,   rising  ruinously 


78  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

from  a  mass  of  ruins  scattered  over  the  top  of 
a  stiff  little  conical  hill.  Tradition  declares 
that  a  subterranean  passage,  dipping  beneath 
the  Durance,  connects  Chateau- Renard  with 
the  Palace  of  the  Popes  in  Avignon.  Mistral 
has  used  the  legend  in  a  thrilling  fashion  — 
sending  his  lovely  Nerto  flying  through  this 
dismal  place,  and  making  very  real  the  fear 
that  besets  her  as  she  hears  the  rush  of  the 
river  above  her  head,  and  the  grinding  and 
pounding  of  the  great  stones  which  are 
whirled  along  the  rocky  bed  of  the  stream. 
Modern  engineers  have  had  the  effrontery  to 
assert  that  the  passage  is  impossible ;  but  I 
am  the  last  person  in  the  world  who  would 
set  an  idle  engineering  fiction  in  array  against 
an  established  poetic  fact.  I  do  not  doubt 
for  a  moment  that  the  passage  exists. 

Our  way  led  across  the  wide  valley  of  the 
Durance,  by  the  suspension -bridge  at  Rogno- 
nas,  amidst  market-gardens  and  vineyards 
and  fruit  orchards.  Little  canals  went  every- 
where through  the  fields,  that  the  river  might 
give  life  to  the  land.  Tall  hedges  of  cypress, 
planted  for  protection  against  the  strong  mis- 
trals of  winter,  cut  the  landscape  with  long 
lines    of   dark    green.       Upon   the    road    we 


AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE  79 

passed  flocks  of  sheep  returning  for  the  win- 
ter from  the  high  pastures  in  the  French 
Alps ;  and  with  one  of  these  was  a  sedate 
ass  who  carried  in  broad  shallow  panniers  the 
lambs  too  young  or  too  tired  to  walk.  We 
accepted  these  flocks  gratefully,  not  in  the 
least  doubting  that  they  had  materialized 
from  "Mireio"  for  our  benefit.  Here  was 
the  shepherd  Alari  coming  down  to  the 
plain  ;  here  even  was  the  delicate  touch  of 
"I'agneloun  qu'es  las" — the  weary  lamb. 
Indeed,  all  that  country-side  seemed  familiar 
to  us,  so  completely  has  Mistral  transferred  to 
his  pages  its  every  part. 

Maillane  is  a  village  bowered  in  trees  and 
girded  about  with  gardens.  According  to 
the  "  Guide  Joanne"  it  possesses  three  claims 
upon  the  attention  of  the  public :  a  beau 
retablc  in  its  ancient  church  ;  in  its  archives 
a  parchment  of  the  year  1400;  and  —  the 
writer  has  a  proper  feeling  for  climax  —  "it 
counts  among  its  1342  inhabitants  the  poet 
I'Vederic   Mistral." 

When  we  asked  the  driver  of  our  carriage 
if  he  knew  where  to  find  the  house  of  Mon- 
sieur Mistral,  he  looked  at  us  with  an  ex[)res- 
sion  of  pit)ing  doubt — it  was  much  as  though 


8o  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

we  had  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  to  look 
at  noonday  for  the  sun.  His  manner  toward 
us  had  been  gentle  and  considerate  from  the 
start.  After  that  question  it  became  quite 
fatherly.  His  feeling  evidently  was  that  peo- 
ple so  largely  ignorant  required  protecting 
care. 

Mistral's  home  is  a  modest  dwelling  of  two 
stories,  standing  on  the  border  of  the  village, 
and  separated  from  the  street  by  a  little  gar- 
den and  a  low  stone  wall  surmounted  by  a 
railing  of  iron.  With  a  serene  indifference 
to  the  ordinary  scheme  of  arrangement,  the 
house  backs  upon  the  street,  and  fronts  upon 
a  deep  garden  and  the  open  country  beyond. 
From  the  windows  of  the  principal  rooms — 
the  library,  the  salon,  the  chambers  above — 
the  outlook  is  upon  trees  and  flowers  and 
green  fields  and  orchards  and  vineyards,  all 
roofed  over  with  the  blue  sky  of  Provence. 
Nothing  could  be  better.  It  is  a  poet's  prac- 
tical way  of  keeping  the  poetry  of  nature 
always  before  his  eyes.  The  deep,  wide  gar- 
den is  a  delight :  sunny  and  sheltered  for 
winter,  with  shady  alleys  for  summer  idling, 
uniting  the  useful  with  the  ornamental  by 
giving  room  to  vegetables  and  fruit-trees,  as 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  8i 

well  as  to  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  having  as 
its  chief  glory  a  great  hedge  of  nerto — as 
myrtle  is  called  in  Provencal  —  which  has  a 
reflected  glory  because  Mistral  has  bestowed 
upon  his  gracious  heroine  its  musical  name. 


V 


All  was  still  as  we  stopped  before  the 
closed  iron  gateway — so  very  still  as  to 
suggest  the  dismal  possibility  that  the  poet 
was  off  on  one  of  his  country  walks,  and 
that  our  coming  was  in  vain.  But  our  fa- 
therl\-  driver,  knowing  that  the  front  of  this 
house  was  its  back,  was  more  confident. 
Charging  me  to  be  watchful  of  the  horse  (it 
pleased  him  to  maintain  the  flattering  fiction 
that  this  sheep-like  animal  was  all  energy 
and  fire),  he  placed  the  reins  in  my  hands, 
and  then  went  off  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  with  our  cards.  We  had  not  brought 
a  letter  of  introduction;  Init  our  visit,  though 
no  (la\'  had  been  set  for  it,  was  expected  — 
for  Roumanille  had  mack;  known  to  Mistral 
that  an   American    Mml)assy  was   at  large  in 

6 


82  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

the  land,  and  that  sooner  or  later  it  would 
present  itself  at  Maillane.  We  heard  the 
tinkle  of  a  bell  inside  the  house,  then  a  faint 
sound  of  voices,  then  quick  footsteps  on  the 
gravel  walk — and  in  a  moment  Mistral  was 
coming  toward  us  with  outstretched  hands. 

What  a  noble-looking-,  poet-like  poet  he 
was !  Over  six  feet  high,  broad-shouldered, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  elate  in  carriage,  vigor- 
ous—  with  only  his  grey  hair,  and  his  nearly 
white  mustache  and  imperial,  to  certify  to  his 
fifty  years.  In  one  respect  his  photographic 
portraits  do  him  injustice.  His  face  is  haughty 
in  repose,  and  this  expression  is  emphasized 
by  his  commanding  presence  and  resolute  air. 
But  no  one  ever  thinks  of  Mistral  as  haughty 
who  has  seen  him  smile.  It  is  as  frank  as 
his  manner,  this  smile ;  all  his  face  is  lit  up  by 
the  friendliness  that  is  in  his  warm  Provencal 
heart. 

In  a  flash  he  had  us  out  of  the  carriage, 
around  the  house,  through  the  wide  entrance- 
hall  paved  with  tiles  and  hung  about  with 
prints,  and  so  into  his  library — and  all  to  an 
accompaniment  of  the  most  cordial  welcoming 
talk.  Roumanille  had  told  him  all  about  us, 
he   said ;    we   were    not    stranq-ers,    we    were 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  83 

friends.       Heaven    bless    these    Proven9aiix ! 
What  a  genuine  hospitahty  is  theirs ! 

Never  did  a  poet  have  a  better  work-room 
than  this  Hbrary.  Overlooking  the  garden 
are  two  wide,  high  windows,  close  beside 
one  of  which  is  a  writing-table  of  liberal 
size ;  prints  hang  upon  the  walls  ;  the  side 
opposite  to  the  windows  is  filled  with  a  tall 
case  of  books.  The  collection  of  books  is 
not  a  large  one  (not  more  than  a  thousand 
volumes),  but  it  is  very  rich.  For  four 
months  I  had  been  making  my  own  little 
collection  on  the  same  lines,  and  my  evil 
heart  was  stirred  with  covetousness  as  I  saw 
upon  these  shelves  so  many  volumes  which 
my  good  Catelan  had  told  me  were  to  be 
obtained  only  by  some  rare  turn  of  lucky 
chance.  But  the  book  which  Mistral  first 
selected  for  us  to  look  at  was  not  one  of  these 
prizes  in  the  literary  lottery;  it  was  a  beauti- 
fully Ijound  copy  of  Miss  Preston's  translation 
of  "Mireio."  Before  returning  it  to  its  place 
he  held  it  for  a  moment  affectionately  in  his 
hand. 

In  the  same  earnest  strain  in  which  Rou- 
manille  had  spoken,  he  spoke  of  the  strong 
motives  underl\ing  the  literary  movement  in 


84  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

Provence.  There  was  much  more  in  it,  he 
said,  than  the  desire  to  revive  a  beautiful  lan- 
guage that  had  fallen  into  undeserved  neglect. 
The  soul  of  it  was  the  firm  purpose  to  array 
against  centralization  the  love  of  locality,  of 
home.  "If  our  movement,"  he  continued, 
"  were  restricted  to  Provence,  it  might  be 
regarded  without  injustice  as  the  last  gleam 
of  a  dying  glory,  as  the  last  effort  of  a  na- 
tionality about  to  expire.  But  it  is  not  so 
restricted.  Languedoc,  Dauphiny,  Gascony, 
Brittany  are  with  us.  And  our  revival  ex- 
tends beyond  the  borders  of  France.  In 
Catalonia,  Aragon,  Valencia,  Majorca ;  in 
Italy,  Hungary,  Roumania,  Bohemia,  Flan- 
ders, even  in  Iceland,  there  is  a  revival  of  the 
ancient  tongues.  All  this  is  not  the  work  of 
chance,  nor  the  result  of  the  effort  of  a  single 
group  of  men.  It  is  the  natural  and  inevi- 
table result  of  the  realization  by  each  of  these 
widely  scattered  peoples  that  in  their  national 
language  resides  their  national  soul.  The 
Felibrige  is  the  legitimate  and  providential 
child  of  the  epoch  in  which  we  live. 

"  Here  in  France  we  have  not  sought 
unduly  to  exalt  Provence  or  Provengal.  We 
have  urged  our  brethren  of  the  other  ancient 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    TROVENCE  85 

tongues  to  do  what  we  have  tried  to  do  for 
ourselves  —  to  add  to  their  own  store  of  hte- 
rary  treasure,  to  maintain  their  own  customs, 
to  preserve  their  own  traditions ;  and  )'et, 
while  thus  holding  fast  to  their  own  individ- 
uality, to  cherish  as  their  most  noble  posses- 
sion their  right  to  be  a  part  of  France."^ 


VI 


Madame  Mistral  joined  us :  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman  with  a  peculiarl)-  sweet,  sym- 
pathetic voice.  Our  talk  turned  to  Mistral's 
work.  It  pleased  him  to  find  that  we  pos- 
sessed all  of  his  poems,  and  even  his  "Tresor 
dou  Felibrige" — his  great  Provencal- French 
dictionary,  2300  triple-columned  folio  pages, 
to  the  compilation  of  which  he  devoted  nearly 
ten  years. 

He  sighed  as  he  spoke  of  the  dictionary,  as 
well  he  might  in  memory  of  the  labor  that  he 

1  "  Whether  we  speak  Frencli  or  Proven9al,  't  is  all  the  same. 
We  understand  each  other.  And  there  is  one  phrase  that  has  the 
same  sound  in  both  languages ;  a  phrase  we  all  know,  a  heartfelt 
cry.  This  phrase,  this  cry,  is — 'Vive  la  France!  '"  Speech  of  the 
Capouli(5  Felix  Gras,  at  Carpentras,  September  15,  1891. 
6" 


86  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

had  expended  upon  it  for  pure  love.  Yet  has 
this  work  repaid  him  in  honor.  It  has  placed 
him  beside  Littre  among  French  men  of  let- 
ters, and  it  has  won  for  him  the  formal  appro- 
bation of  the  Institut  Fran9ais.  In  recog- 
nition of  its  high  value,  the  Academie  des 
Inscriptions  et  Belles  Lettres  of  the  Institut 
aw^arded  to  him  (March  28,  1890)  the  Jean 
Reynaud  prize  of  10,000  francs:  a  prize  — 
given  every  five  years  "to  recompense  the  most 
important  work  produced  in  that  period  in 
studies  within  the  compass  of  the  Academy  " 
—  that  is  one  of  the  highest  literary  honors 
(short  of  election  to  the  body  whence  it  em- 
anates) which  a  French  man  of  letters  can 
receive. 

Primarily,  the  "  Tresor  "  is  a  dictionary  of 
all  the  languages  of  Oc  (i.  e.,  the  languages  in 
which  oc  is  the  equivalent  oi  yes)  ;  but  it  also 
is  much  more  than  a  dictionary,  being,  liter- 
ally, a  treasury  of  information  concerning  the 
lancruaees,  the  customs,  the  traditions  of  the 
south  of  France.  It  is  not,  as  his  poems  are, 
the  result  of  inspiration  ;  it  is  the  product  of 
a  profound  scholarship  backed  by  indefati- 
gable labor  extending  over  many  years.  In- 
deed, it  seems  impossible  that  the  same  man 
should  have  distinguished  himself  so  greatly 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  87 

in  such  widely  difterent  ways.  As  M.  Michel 
Breal  (in  presenting  to  Mistral  the  prize  of 
the  Academy,  at  Montpelier,  May  25,  1890) 
well  said:  "A  time  will  come  when  learned 
men,  finding  themselves  confronted  by  this 
enormous  philological  work  and  by  Mistral's 
poems,  will  say  that  there  must  have  been 
two  Frederic  Mistrals,  as  there  were  two 
Plinys — thus  evading  the  tax  upon  their 
credulity  involved  in  believing  that  so  much 
science  and  so  much  poetry  were  contained 
in  the  same  brain." 

Naturall)-,  his  poems  stand  nearest  to  the 
poet's  heart.  He  spoke  of  them  wnth  a  frank 
pleasure,  and  of  the  local  material  embodied 
in  them  —  this  being  a  part  of  his  own  be- 
loved country  —  with  delight.  To  gratify  our 
desire  to  associate  the  sound  of  his  voice  with 
his  written  words,  he  read  to  us,  from  "La 
Reino  Jano,"  the  speech  of  Aufan  de  Siste- 
roun,  in  which  the  troubadour  urges  the 
Queen  to  leave  Naples  and  to  come  to  Pro- 
vence— "■cctte  pcrle  royalc,  Vabrcc^c,  la  viontre 
ct  Ic  viiroir  du  niondcy  It  was  not  a  reading 
at  random  : 

Accedant  cii  j^cncral  ;\  votre  douce  autorite, 

\A  chacjue  villc  vit  de  son  droit  naturel, 

Et  librement  travaille,  on  dort,  011  chante,  ou  crie, 


88  AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

declares  the  troubadour — precisely  the  doc- 
trine which  Mistral  himself  had  just  been  ad- 
vancing, of  separate  individual  rights  united 
in  support  of  high  authority. 

All  this  Provengal  poetry  gains  greatly  by 
being  read  aloud.  There  is  music  in  the 
broad,  sonorous  sounds,  and  a  rhythm  in  the 
composition  so  marked  that  frequently  it  is 
almost  an  air.  Much  of  the  verse  evidently 
is  written,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to 
music.  I  noticed  that  Roumanille  —  writing  a 
dedication  in  a  volume  that  he  had  presented 
to  the  Ambassadress — beat  time  as  he  put 
the  lines  together  in  his  mind  ;  and  not  until 
the  measure  satisfied  him  did  he  write  them 
down. 

We  were  conscious  of  our  privilege  in  hear- 
ing Mistral  read  his  own  poetry ;  and  this 
privilege  was  enlarged  when  he  sang  to  us 
the  "  Sono-  of  the  Rowers" — as  the  Oueen  is 
borne  out  upon  the  bay  of  Naples  in  her 
barge — to  an  ancient  thrilling  air  of  the  sort 
which  had  so  moved  us  when  we  had  listened 
to  the  singing  of  Felix  Gras.  I  hope  that 
he  understood  how  grateful  we  were  to  him. 
King  Louis  of  Bavaria,  listening  royally  soli- 
tary to  an  opera,  alone  could  be  our  parallel ! 


AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  89 

From  his  own  poems  we  went  on  to  speak 
of  Provencal  poetry  generall)- ;  of  the  poems 
which  we  had  read,  and  of  the  poets  whom 
we  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  know  person- 
ally—  and  especially  of  the  strong-  friendship 
which  these  men  had  for  each  other,  their 
freedom  from  petty  jealousy,  and  their  warm 
appreciation  of  each  other's  work.  It  was  a 
part  of  their  creed,  he  said,  this  friendliness. 
All  were  working/  tosfether,  as  missionaries,  as 
apostles,  to  a  common  pnd.  Under  these  con- 
ditions mutual  support  was  necessary,  and 
jealousy  was  impossible — and  again  he  in- 
sisted upon  the  sincerity  and  the  depth  of 
purpose  which  animated  their  literary  move- 
ment and  made  it  also  broadly  humane. 


VII 


While  we  talked,  a  lank  dog  with  a  bris- 
tling black  coat — a  creature  of  no  particular 
breed — jumped  up  on  the  wide  outer  ledge 
of  the  window  and  peered  in  upon  us.  His 
face  had  a  quizzical  cast,  and  his  manner  was 
so  bantering  that  a  charge  of  insolence  would 


90  AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

have  lain  against  him  but  for  the  look  of 
good-humored  drollery  in  his  eyes.  Having 
completed  his  survey,  he  jumped  down  from 
the  window-ledge,  and  a  moment  later  came 
in  through  the  open  door  to  make  us  his  com- 
pliments— with  the  easy,  rather  swaggering 
air  of  an  old  campaigner  whose  habit  it  was 
to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  all  strangers  on 
the  chance  of  a  dish  of  racy  talk. 

The  genesis  of  this  dog  was  as  eccentric  as 
himself  He  had  "come  up  out  of  the  ground," 
as  Mistral  expressed  it — suddenly  appearing 
in  the  course  of  one  of  the  poet's  country 
walks,  and  immediately  adopting  him  as  a 
master.  No  one  in  all  the  country-side  ever 
had  seen  him,  or  one  like  him.  But  with  the 
assurance  that  was  so  conspicuous  a  trait  in 
his  nature,  he  had  declined  to  be  regarded  as 
a  stranger.  He  had  made  himself  entirely  at 
home  in  a  moment,  and  had  accepted  with 
equanimity  the  name  of  Pain-perdu  —  he 
was  no  stickler  for  names,  provided  rations 
went  with  them  —  that  was  bestowed  upon 
him :  partly  because  of  his  famished  condi- 
tion, and  partly  in  memory  of  the  troubadour 
so  called.  He  was  a  dog  of  magic,  Mistral 
declared,  who  had  started  up  from  nowhere, 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  91 

and  who  had  thrust  himself,  either  for  good 
or  for  evil,  into  his  new  master's  life. 

But  the  poet  cherished  also  the  fancy  that 
the  dog- — supposing  him  to  be  a  real  dog — 
was  a  waif  from  the  Wild  West  Show;  which 
aggregation  of  American  talent  had  passed 
northward  from  Marseilles  to  Paris  about  the 
time  that  Pain-perdu  materialized.  Mistral 
has  so  much  the  look  of  Mr.  Cody  —  a  resem- 
blance not  a  little  helped  by  the  slouched  felt 
hat  that  he  habitually  wears  —  that  in  Paris 
he  has  been  repeatedly  pointed  out  on  the 
streets  as  "Boofalo";  and  he  argued  that  Pain- 
perdu  had  adopted  him  for  a  master  because 
of  this  resemblance.  He  begged  tliat  I 
would  speak  to  the  dog  in  English;  and  it 
is  a  fact  that  the  uncanny  creature  cocked 
his  head  at  me  with  a  most  knowing  look, 
and  did  seem  to   understand  my  words. 

An  older  and  more  important  member  of 
the  family  is  Marcabrun,  a  large  grey  cat 
of  so  dignified  a  hal)it  that  he  might  with 
propriety  wear  ermine,  instead  of  his  own 
grey  coat,  and  sit  uj)()n  the  bench.  We  were 
bidden  to  obserxe  that  he-  was  not  a  toy  cat 
—  one  of  those  long-haired,  bushy-tailed  crea- 
tures  to    wliich    the    Parisians   are  dc:v()ted  — 


92  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

but  a  Sturdy,  mouse-catching,  working  cat, 
of  honest  Egyptian  descent;  a  cat  whose  con- 
scientious discharge  of  his  duties  was  honor- 
able to  himself  and  useful  to  his  friends.  "I 
have  a  very  sincere  affection  for  cats,"  said 
Mistral,  as  he  gently  stroked  Marcabrun's 
jowls.  "And  I  am  persuaded,"  he  added 
gravely,  "  that  their  knowledge  extends  to 
many  things  too  subtle  for  the  human  mind 
to  grasp ! " 

We  passed  to  the  salon,  where  Madame 
Mistral  had  a  tray  of  liqueurs  in  readiness 
for  the  ceremony — which  on  our  side  cer- 
tainly had  in  it  much  earnestness — of  drink- 
ing to  each  other's  health,  and  to  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  friendship  that  had  begun  that 
day.  And  then  we  touched  glasses  again  in 
honor  of  the  poets  and  poetry  of  Provence. 

The  day  was  waning.  It  was  time  for  us 
to  come  away.  We  lingered  for  a  few  min- 
utes in  the  garden,  while  Madame  gathered 
for  the  Ambassadress  a  bunch  of  flowers,  to 
which  the  poet  added  (running  down  to  the 
hedge  to  get  it)  a  spray  of  nerto.  It  is  pre- 
served as  a  precious  relic,  this  bunch  of  nerto; 
and  though  in  truth  it  has  become  dry  and 
yellow,  to  us  it  always  will  seem  fragrant  and 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  93 

green.  Then  they  came  with  us  to  the  gate, 
and  stood  waving  farewells  after  us  until  a 
turn  in  the  street  hid  them  from  our  view. 
Here  was  another  case  in  which  ideals  had 
stood  the  test  of  comparison  with  realities. 

We  drove  back  by  the  direct  road  — 
through  Graveson  and  Rognonas,  and  so 
across  the  Durance  and  on  into  Avignon, 
Although  a  strong  mistral  was  blowing — 
with  which  usually  goes  a  brilliantly  clear 
sky — clouds  had  gathered  in  the  west.  Into 
these  clouds,  beyond  the  line  of  hills  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  Rhone,  the  sun  was 
sinking.  To  the  eastward,  the  distant  Alps 
loomed  shadowy.  In  their  forefront,  tipped 
with  red  sunlight,  towered  Mont  Ventour — 
as  high  above  the  lesser  peaks  as  a  great 
poet  is  above  the  common  level  of  mankind. 


PART   FOURTH 


THAT  we  should  go  to  the  Fountain  of 
Yaucluse  was  a  matter  of  necessity.  As 
the  ambassadors  of  a  poet  we  were,  in  a  sense, 
poets  ourselves ;  and  for  even  a  vicarious  poet 
to  be  within  a  dozen  miles  of  this  time-honored 
shrine  of  poetic  love  and  yet  not  visit  it  would 
be  a  sort  of  negative  sacrilege,  an  outrage  of 
neglect. 

To  be  sure,  as  troubadours,  we  were  dis- 
posed to  look  with  but  little  favor  upon  the 
chillingly  precise  verses  which  the  calm  Pe- 
trarch addressed  to  his  calm  Laura  ;  to  regard 
somewhat  disdainfully  an  ardor  so  prudently 
iced.  Hut — whether  we  approved  or  disap- 
proxed  of  his  nKttliods  of  love-making — the 
fact  remained  that  this  Signor  Petrarch  merited 
some  token  of  outward  respect  from  us,  for  the 
reason  that  he  b(;l()need   to  our  brotherhood 


96  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

and  was  one  of  ourselves.  Therefore  we  de- 
cided that  before  going  to  Saint- Remy  and  to 
Salon  we  would  bear  away  eastward  to  the 
Fountain  of  Vaucluse,  and  pay  his  memory  a 
passing  call. 

La  Ponette  and  the  shabby  little  carriage 
were  brought  forth  from  the  stables  of  the 
Hotel  de  I'Europe  —  which  we  were  led  to 
infer  from  the  hostler's  supercilious  air  had 
been  somewhat  contaminated  by  giving  shelter 
to  our  poverty-stricken  equipage.  On  the 
other  hand,  had  the  humble  Ponette  known 
how  lordly  a  price  we  paid  for  her  subsistence 
in  this  aristocratic  establishment,  I  am  con- 
fident that  her  short  and  very  thick  head 
would  have  been  completely  turned.  That 
our  own  heads  were  a  little  turned  by  the 
parallel  process  in  our  own  case  is  undeniable. 
For  several  days  after  emerging  from  our 
golden  and  crimson  quarters  we  maintained 
the  fiction  that  we  were  ticket-of-leave  sover- 
eigns, and  made  a  point  of  addressing  each 
other  as  "  Your  Grace." 

Amidst  the  open  smiles  of  the  waiters, 
stable-boys,  and  other  hangers-on  of  the  Hotel 
de  I'Europe,  we  drove  forth  from  the  court- 
yard and  shaped  our  course — having  a  cargo 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  97 

of  books  to  pick  up  at  Roumanille's  shop  — 
for  the  Rue  St.  Agricol.  All  the  members  of 
the  household  flocked  out  to  feast  their  eyes 
upon  our  car  of  state  drawn  by  our  gallant 
steed.  As  I  close  my  eyes  I  can  see  Rou- 
manille  leaning  for  support  against  the  door- 
jamb,  and  I  can  hear  the  ring  of  liis  laugh. 
We  had  endeavored  to  prepare  him  for  the 
spectacle  ;  but  he  told  us  frankly,  in  a  voice 
broken  with  emotion,  that  what  he  had  re- 
garded as  efforts  of  our  imagination  had  given 
him  but  a  feeble  notion  of  the  truth.  But 
Roumanille  was  forced  to  admit — as  we 
stowed  the  books  in  the  locker  beneath  the 
seat,  and  disposed  of  the  big  package  of  pho- 
tographs between  the  apron  and  the  dash- 
board—  that  a  good  deal  was  to  be  said  in 
favor  of  our  conveyance  on  the  score  of  prac- 
tical convenience.  What  it  seemed  to  lack,  he 
said,  was  style. 

Our  parting  that  day  was  only  temporary. 
We  were  to  come  back  presently  —  traveling 
like  ordinary  mortals  in  an  ordinary  railway- 
carriage —  for  a  lonor  visit.  Therefore  we  said 
a7i  I'cvoir  with  good  heart,  and  got  under  way 
without  regret — Roumanille  standing  out  on 
the    pavenient,   still    laughing,    until    the   turn 


98  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

into  the  Cours  de  la  Republique  hid  him  from 
our  sight. 

Over  our  passage  down  this  street,  the 
Broadway  of  Avignon,  I  draw  a  veil.  It  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  we  attracted  more  atten- 
tion, a  great  deal  more,  than  our  modesty 
desired.  It  was  with  a  s'lQ-h.  of  relief  that  we 
passed  the  city  gate,  and  so  came  in  a  few 
minutes  into  the  quiet  country  road  leading 
eastward  to  L'lsle-sur-Sorgrue.  There  are 
times  in  one's  life,  and  this  was  one  of  them, 
when  the  grateful  vacancy  of  the  country 
brings  rest  and  soothing  to  the  mind  harried 
by  a  city's  noise  and  crowd. 

Our  way  led  eastward ;  but  we  actually 
took  a  route  southeastward,  that  we  might 
spend  a  few  hours  in  the  gay  company  of  the 
swiftest  and  most  joyous  river  in  all  Europe, 
the  Durance.  It  was  a  charming  road,  this, 
that  led  us  through  parks  and  gardens  from 
the  outer  edge  of  the  valley  to  the  riverside. 
Great  trees  arched  over  us ;  pollard  willows 
were  ranged  along  the  irrigating  canals  in 
unending  lines ;  the  soft  gurgling  sound  of 
flowinor  water  filled  the  air.  Now  and  then 
we  met  or  passed  a  friendly  traveler  with 
whom  we  exchancjed  oreetinofs.     From  an  old 


AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  99 

Stone  gateway,  just  touched  by  a  sunbeam 
that  penetrated  the  thick  fohage  above  it,  a 
Httle  girl  came  out  and  held  up  for  our  admira- 
tion her  new  doll  —  a  very  Sheban  of  a  doll, 
dressed  in  \ivid  yellow  and  girded  with  a 
scarlet  sash.  The  Ponette  jogged  along  in 
her  own  slow  way,  and  we  did  not  hurry  her. 
Had  she  known  our  humor,  she  would  have 
turned  it  to  her  private  profit  by  going  at 
a  walk. 

About  noon,  swinging  away  to  the  north, 
we  parted  company  with  the  Durance  at  Bon- 
pas.  It  is  a  silk-factory,  now,  this  ancient  ab- 
bey—  a  change  fit  to  make  the  dust  of  Simon 
Langham,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbur)-  who 
built  the  abbey  church,  compact  itself  again 
and  arise  in  the  shape  of  a  curse.  The  Bridge- 
building  Brothers  threw  a  bridge  of  stone 
across  the  river  here  ;  but  the  river  promptly 
threw  it  off  ao^ain,  and  its  several  successors 
after  it.  Now,  quite  in  keeping  with  the  silk- 
factory,  the  stream  is  spanned  by  a  suspen- 
sion-bridge—  the  only  sort  of  structure  that 
this  light-hearted  devil  of  a  river  does  not 
sooner  or  later  get  the  better  of 

Across  the  valley,  a  couple  of  miles  away, 
is  Noves,  where  of  old   Laura  lived,      bor  a 


loo  AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

moment  we  hung  in  the  wind,  at  the  fork  of 
the  road,  while  we  debated  the  propriety  of 
turnino-  aside  to  visit  her  former  habitation. 
But  Laura  is  distinctly  a  second-rate  person- 
age. The  best  that  can  be  said  of  her  is  that 
she  was  the  consignee  of  Petrarch's  verses. 
The  debate  was  a  short  one. 

"  We  cannot  be  at  the  mercy  of  every  whiff 
of  Fancy's  breeze,"  said  the  Ambassador. 

"We  must  occasionally  be  firm  to  our  in- 
tentions," said  the  Ambassadress. 

And,  having  uttered  these  resolute  words 
of  wisdom,  we  turned  our  backs  upon  Noves 
and  Laura,  and  bore  away  for  Thor.  We  had 
been  assured,  I  may  say  in  passing,  that  in 
Thor,  at  the  little  Hotel  de  Notre  Dame,  we 
should  get  a  good  breakfast ;  had  we  pos- 
sessed a  like  assurance  in  regard  to  the 
breakfast  possibilities  of  Noves,  the  case  thus 
decided  against  Laura  might  have  gone 
differently. 


II 


Midway  in  the  village  of  Thor  the  highway 
takes  a  sharp  turn  ;   and  just  in   its  bend,  so 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  loi 

that  the  traveler  cannot  possibly  miss  it,  is 
the  hospitably  open  entrance  to  the  Hotel 
de  Notre  Dame.  A  woman  nursing"  a  plump 
baby  rose  to  greet  us  as  we  drove  in,  and  a 
stern  hostler — luuing  the  look  and  manner 
of  Prince  l)ismarck  —  came  forth  from  the 
stable  and  took  charge  of  the  mare.  That  we 
might  wash  away  the  dust  of  our  journey,  we 
were  shown  to  a  little  box  of  a  bedroom.  All 
the  floors  were  of  stone  ;  the  steps  of  the  nar- 
row stair  were  of  stone,  worn  deeply  ;  and  in 
keeping  with  this  line  flavor  of  antiquity  was 
the  garnishing  of  the  kitchen  fireplace  with 
delightful  tiles.  Excepting  the  new  humanity 
that  had  come  into  it,  I  doubt  if  there  had 
been  the  smallest  change  in  this  whole  estab- 
lishment for  a  round  two  hundred  years.  The 
baby  was  very  new  indeed,  and  his  )oung 
mother  thought  the  world  of  him.  She  held 
him  on  one  arm  during  most  of  the  time  that 
she  was  engaged  in  getting  breakfast  ready, 
but  popped  him  down  anywhere — on  the  table 
or  into  a  basket  half  filled  with  potatoes — when 
she  required  the  use  of  both  hands.  When  at 
last  breakfast  was  served,  he  was  stowed  away 
in  a  biji"  cradle  in  one  corner  of  the  dininijf- 
room. 

7* 


I02  AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

Four  people  breakfasted  with  us ;  but  they 
all  were  shy  and  taciturn,  and  only  one  of 
them — a  carter  in  his  shirt-sleeves — looked 
interestingf.  Had  we  been  alone  with  the  car- 
ter,  we  should  have  made  friends  with  him  ; 
but  he  was  oppressed,  as  we  were,  by  the  chill 
presence  of  the  other  half  of  our  company, 
and  devoted  his  large  mouth  solely  to  eating 
and  drinking.  Yet  was  he  naturally  a  voluble 
man,  and  with  a  fine  loud  voice :  as  we 
knew — a  moment  after  he  had  bolted  his  last 
mouthful,  and  had  left  the  table  with  a  jerky 
bow  —  by  hearing  him  roaring  away  in  ani- 
mated talk  with  Prince  Bismarck  outside. 

On  the  wall  of  the  dining-room  was  a  notice 
stating  that  the  Mayor  of  Thor  had  the  honor 
to  inform  the  public  that  the  annual  market 
of  grapes  of  all  qualities  would  be  held  in  the 
commune,  at  the  accustomed  place,  on  the 
25th  of  August  and  the  15th  of  October, 
proximo.  All  about  the  town  were  vineyards, 
and  the  crisp  aromatic  smell  of  the  ripening 
grapes  hung  heavy  in  the  air.  At  the  little 
cafe,  whither  we  went  when  our  breakfast 
was  ended,  the  old  man  who  served  us  spoke 
of  the  vintaofe  with  enthusiasm.  The  vines 
had  done  well,  wonderfully  well,  he  said.     A 


AX    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE  103 

great  harvest  was  assured.  "And  when  our 
grapes  are  good,"  he  added  jolHly,  "  we  laugh 
and  jingle  our  money  in  our  pockets  through 
all  the  rest  of  the  year." 

He  was  charmingly  talkative,  this  old  man 
—  quite  unlike  the  sad  company  at  breakfast 
that  had  erected  a  chill  barrier  of  silence  be- 
tween the  carter  and  ourselves.  My  pipe  ap- 
pealed to  him.  "  It  is  a  fine  large  pipe  that 
monsieur  smokes."  he  said  cordially.  "And 
is  it  really  so  light  as  they  say,  this  German 
cla\-  ?  Will  monsieur  indeed  permit  me  ?  .  .  . 
Moil  Dicu,  how  light !  Wliat  a  wonder  of  a 
pipe  it  is  !  "  After  the  severe  repression  to 
whicli  our  natures  had  been  subjected  at 
breakfast,  coming  into  the  presence  of  this 
genial  old  man  was  like  coming  forth  into 
sunshine  from  a  cold,  dark  room. 

While  the  Ponette  rested — what  she;  had 
to  rest  from  Heaven  onU'  knows  ;  in  all  the 
morning  she  had  covered  only  eight  or  ten 
miles  —  we  paid  our  respects  to  the  unknown 
architect  who  seven  hundred  years  ago  built 
the  church  for  which  Thor  ever  since  has  been 
famed.  This  duty  to  art  and  anti(]uity  being 
discharged,  we  ascended  into  our  chariot,  and 
then    the    Ponette's   scarcely  i)erceptible   pro- 


104  AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

gress  detached  us  gently  from  Thor,  and  set 
us  adrift  in  the  direction  of  L'Isle-sur-Sorgue. 
From  the  one  town  to  the  other  is  but  a 
step.  Even  the  Ponette  could  not  make 
a  journey  of  it.  By  mid-afternoon  we  were 
bowling  along  the  shady  main  street,  beside 
the  main  channel  of  the  Sorgue,  at  a  spirited 
walk;  and  so  came  gallantly  to  the  door  of  the 
Hotel  St.  Martin.  It  is  customary  for  visitors 
to  the  Fountain  of  Vaucluse  to  stop  at  the 
Hotel  de  Petrarque-et-Laure  ;  but  in  our  case 
—  apart  from  our  coolness  toward  those  cool 
lovers — there  was  so  much  of  appositeness  in 
finding  shelter  for  ourselves  and  our  beggarly 
equipage  at  a  hotel  presided  over  by  St.  Mar- 
tin that  we  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  in 
making  our  choice. 


Ill 


L'IsLE  is  nothing  less  than  a  fascination  — 
a  tiny  Venice,  without  the  bad  smells.  The 
Sorgue,  outflowing  from  the  near-by  Fountain 
of  Vaucluse^  divides  above  the  town  into  three 
channels,  which  below  it  are  united  again  into 
a  single  stream.  Upon  the  northern  island, 
and  around  about  it,  the  town  is  built.     The 


AX    EMBASSY    TO    PROVKXCE  105 

main  stream,  at  its  widest  but  a  couple  of  rods 
across,  shaded  by  ancient  trees,  flows  beside 
the  highway  —  which  also  is  the  principal 
street  of  the  town.  Stone  bridges  span  it  here 
and  there  ;  broad  flights  of  stone  steps,  with 
the  look  of  having  escaped  from  a  drop- 
curtain,  lead  down  to  its  margin  and  are 
thronged  with  operatic  washerwomen  ;  huge 
undershot  wheels  slowly  rex'olve  in  it  (a  good 
deal  of  unpoetic  carpet-weaving  is  done  here), 
and  suggest  melodramatic  possibilities  of  a 
thrilling  and  shudderimj  sort — there  beini^  al- 
ways  about  a  great  water-wheel  something 
very  horrible  that  sends  a  chill  to  one's  heart. 
The  southern  branch  flows  along  tlie  town's 
outskirts ;  and  the  nortliern,  not  more  than 
six  or  eight  feet  wide,  runs  in  a  strait  channel 
between  the  houses  —  and  even  under  them  — 
with  doors  and  windows  opening  upon  the 
stream.  All  day  long  the  cool  sound  of 
rippling  water  is  in  the  air;  and  its  lulling 
tinkle  comes  soothingl)-  across  the  soft  silence 
of  the  night. 

It  was  the  boast  of  the  people  of  L'Isle 
in  former  times  —  before  there  was  thrust 
upon  the  I^'ountain  of  Vaucluse  a  desecrating 
paper-mill  —  that  the\'  could  sit  at  their  ease 
in    thc-ir   houses   and    fish    lor    trout   and    eels 


io6  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

through  their  open  doors.  Noble  traditions 
survive  of  these  dainties,  and  of  a  certain 
deHcate  variety  of  crawfish,  with  which  the 
Soreue  did  once  abound.  Accordine  to  the 
guide-books  and  the  hotel  people,  the  Sorgue 
abounds  with  them  still ;  and  the  represen- 
tative of  St.  Martin  even  went  so  far  as  to 
assure  us  that  the  specimens  served  for  our 
delectation  had  come  from  the  river  to  the 
pan  with  but  a  single  bound.  Yet,  in  point 
of  fact,  because  of  that  vile  paper-mill,  the 
fish  of  the  Sorgue  are  all  as  dead  as  Julius 
Caesar.  The  hotel  fish  really  come  from  the 
Gardon  —  clear  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Rhone — and  do  their  bounding  in  the  wake 
of  a  locomotive  by  grande  vitessc.  This 
painful  secret  was  imparted  to  us  by  the 
proprietor  of  the  cafe :  an  intelligent  young 
man  who  had  no  motive  for  abetting  the  local 
fiction,  and  whose  business  was  of  a  sort  to 
set  him  a  little  at  odds  with  the  proprietors  of 
the  hotels. 


IV 


While  these  facts  in  reo-ard  to  the  miofrant 
nature  of  the  fish  of  L'Isle  were  being  con- 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  107 

fided  to  US — we  were  taking  our  after-dinner 
coffee  —  a  man  passed  by  beatini^  loudly  upon 
a  drum.  His  untcmpered  music,  we  found, 
was  the  announcement  of  a  play  to  be  given 
that  very  evening  in  an  open-air  theater 
down  by  the  water-side  in  the  rear  of  our 
hotel.  The  players,  said  our  young  man, 
were  the  wreckage  of  a  strolling  company 
that  had  gone  to  pieces  in  L'Isle  a  month  or 
two  before ;  they  gave  occasional  perform- 
ances to  keep  themselves  alive  until  some 
happy  turn  of  fortune  should  enable  them  to 
get  away. 

As  we  found  when  we  had  come  to  it,  this 
open-air  theater  justified  its  name.  The 
stage  w-as  a  raised  and  covered  platform, 
with  a  practicable  curtain;  but  the  seats,  cut 
off  from  the  rest  of  the  universe  by  a  wooden 
fence,  had  between  them  and  the  sky  only 
some  chance  branches  of  trees.  The  best 
seats — two  rows  of  chairs  which  stood  in 
front  of  the  eio^ht  or  ten  lines  of  benches 
without  backs — cost  twenty  centimes.  We 
unhesitatingly  paid  our  eight  cents,  and  took 
places  in   the   front  row. 

There  were  six  players,  all  told,  and  the 
cast  included  seven  characters.  In  the  lirst 
act  the   Villain  —  quite  a  desperate  villain  — 


io8  AN   EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

very  properly  was  killed  ;  but  in  the  second 
act  he  confused  us  by  reappearing — it  was 
the  same  man  in  precisely  the  same  cos- 
tume—  alive  and  well.  As  the  play  went 
on,  however,  we  discovered  that  he  had  ceased 
to  be  the  Villain,  and  at  a  stroke  had  become 
his  own  uncle  and  the  respectable  father  of 
the  Marchioness.  We  inferred  that  there  was 
a  shortness  in  the  wardrobe  as  well  as  in  the 
company ;  and  this  probability  was  empha- 
sized by  the  references  in  the  lines  to  the 
somber  black  in  which  the  Marchio7icss  was 
clad,  when,  actually,  that  interesting  young 
widow  was  arrayed  in  a  gown  of  exceptionally 
bright  blue. 

Between  the  tragedy  and  the  farce  the  In- 
gmiie  came  out  among  the  audience  and  sup- 
plemented the  gate-money  by  taking  up  a 
collection  in  a  tin  box,  her  efforts  being  most 
pointedly  directed  to  squeezing  something  out 
of  the  crowd  that  was  massed  outside  the  rail- 
ing and  had  not  paid  anything  at  all.  The 
Ducna,  not  cast  in  the  farce,  resumed  posses- 
sion of  her  brace  of  children,  who  had  been  in 
the  care  of  friends  on  the  benches,  and  went 
home  with  them  when  the  tragedy  was  at  an 
end.  We  heard  her  say  something  about 
breakfast  the  next  day  and  a  pot  of  tripe.    At 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  109 

the  end  of  the  performance  the  Tyrant  made 
us  all  a  handsome  speech  of  thanks,  and  an- 
nounced that  on  the  ensuing-  Thursday  the 
company  would  have  the  honor  of  presenting 
the  tragedy  of  "  Jeanne  d'Arc,"  to  be  followed 
by  a  side-splitting  farce.  I  was  disposed  to 
arise  in  my  place  and  to  assure  the  Tyrant 
that  for  ourselves  the  obligation  was  wholly 
on  our  side.  It  was  a  longing  of  our  hearts 
realized  —  this  \crital)le  bit  out  of  ''  Le  Capi- 
taine  Fracasse." 


Before  returning  to  our  quarters,  we  walked 
for  a  while  in  the  starlight  beside  the  Sorgue: 
seeking  to  attune  our  souls  by  its  rippling 
music  to  the  key  of  poesy  fitting  to  the  pil- 
grimage on  the  ensuing  day  to  the  Fountain 
of  \'aucluse.  In  this  endeavor  we  succeeded 
so  well  that  I  was  beginning  to  put  together 
an  apostrophic  sonnet  to  Laura  and  Petrarch, 
when  sleep  overtook  me  and  obliterated  the 
concluding  ten  of  the  necessary  fourteen  lines. 
And  then,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  came 
the  proprietor  of  the  Motel  St.  Martin,  with 
violent    knockinirs,    to    inform    me    that    the 


no  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

Ponette  had  developed  a  severe  colic  and  was 
in  a  very  bad  way  indeed  ! 

For  all  the  remainder  of  my  days  the  Foun- 
tain of  Vaucluse  will  be  associated  in  my  mind 
with  the  keen  internal  miseries  of  that  dull 
little  mare.  Never  will  I  hear  a  reference  to 
Laura  and  Petrarch  without  instantly  remem- 
bering the  unpoetic  nature  of  my  frequent 
conferences  with  the  veterinary  surgeon,  who 
was  the  better,  as  I  was  the  worse,  on  each 
of  these  occasions  by  two  francs. 

It  was  the  late  Lord  Verulam  who  made 
the  astute  observation  (in  his  essay  "  Of  Sedi- 
tions and  Troubles")  that  "the  rebellions  of 
the  belly  are  the  worst."  But  even  my  Lord 
Verulam,  who  was  blessed  with  a  fine  vein  of 
fancy,  never  imagined  a  rebellion  of  this  na- 
ture at  so  inopportune  a  time.  Instead  of 
reveling  in  a  luxury  of  poetic  reminiscence,  I 
was  forced  to  dwell  upon  the  prosaic  details 
of  equine  pathology ;  while  a  haunting  dread 
beset  me  of  what  would  happen  should  the 
sluggish  soul  of  the  Ponette  separate  itself 
from  her  sluggish  body,  and  so  bring  me  to 
a  direful  reckoning  with  Noe  Mourgue  at 
Nimes ! 

Happily  for  me,  the  Ponette  was  endowed 
with  so  vigrorous  a  constitution  that  she  did 


AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  iii 

not  succumb  to  her  painful  disorder.  By  the 
ensuing  morning  she  practically  was  well 
again,  the  veterinary  surgeon  assured  me ; 
and  as  his  interest  was  wholly  against  this 
statement,  I  did  not  doubt  that  he  spoke  the 
truth.  But  it  was  with  chastened  spirits  that 
we  drove  her  gingerly  to  the  Fountain  of 
\^aucluse ;  and  our  conversation  turned  not 
upon  Laura  and  Petrarch,  but  upon  the  pos- 
sible further  internal  disturbances  of  the  mare. 
Positively,  it  made  me  nervous  when  she  but 
twitched  her  ears  ! 

Yet,  in  despite  of  these  painful  memories 
of  the  trials  and  tribulations  which  befell  me 
there,  I  think  of  L'Isle-sur-Sorgue  only  with 
an  affectionate  tenderness.  It  possesses  a 
beautiful  old  church,  it  is  renowned  for  the 
excellence  of  its  dried  fruits,  and  there  is  in 
its  composition  a  most  wonderful  mingling 
of  sparkling  water  and  sparkling  sunshine. 
These  merits  are  considerable  ;  but  its  greater 
merit,  wherein  lies  its  especial  charm  for  me, 
is  its  habit  of  repose.  I  never  have  known  a 
town  where  a  larger  proportion  of  the  towns- 
folk seemed  t(j  have  so  comforta1)ly  little  to 
do.  Their  capacity  for  l)eing  negati\el\- 
busy  —  that  is  to  say,  for  consciously  and  de- 
liberately   doing    nothing:     a    very    different 


112  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

thing  from  mere  idleness — is  a  perfect  realiza- 
tion of  a  beautiful  ideal.  During  the  three 
days  of  our  sojourn  there  some  masons  were 
making  believe  to  be  at  work  upon  repairs  to 
the  wall  of  the  main  canal — close  beside  an 
old  stone  bridge  whereon  was  cast  by  a  great 
plane-tree  growing  beside  it  a  rest-inviting 
shade.  All  day  long  relays  of  the  towns- 
people accepted  the  invitation  of  the  plane- 
tree  and  sat  upon  the  parapet  of  the  bridge, 
watching  with  an  intelligently  languid  interest 
the  masons  keeping  up  their  show  of  toil. 
Sometimes  the  members  of  these  self-ap- 
pointed committees  fairly  went  to  sleep.  But 
it  was  only  by  looking  closely  that  their  som- 
nolence was  apparent  —  so  exquisite,  even  in 
their  widest  wakefulness,  was  their  repose.  A 
town  like  that  is  a  bulwark  of  civilization, 
against  which  the  Huns  and  Goths  of  our  era, 
whose  barbaric  war-cry  is  "  Haste!"  may  strive 
in  vain. 


VI 


Salon,  where  dwelt  of  old  the  prophet 
Nostradamus,  lies  due  south  of  L'Isle  at  a 
distance  of  twenty  miles.     But  by  going  along 


AN    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  113 

two  sides  of  a  triangle,  only  thirty  miles  or  so 
out  of  the  direct  way,  we  were  able  to  lay  a 
course  through  Saint- Remy  and  Les  Baux 
that  was  much  more  to  cnir  minds.  Our  visit 
to  Salon  was  a  matter  of  diplomatic  neces- 
sity—  to  the  end  that,  as  Ambassadors,  we 
might  wait  upon  the  chief  citizen  of  that  town  : 
Monsieur  Antoine  Blaise  Crousillat,  oldest  of 
all  the  Felibres,  to  whom  his  brethren  have 
given  the  affectionate  title  of  dean  of  their 
poetic  guild. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  held  a  final  confer- 
ence (at  the  regular  two-franc  rate)  with  the 
veterinary  surgeon  ;  received  his  positive  as- 
surance that  the  revolt  in  the  interior  of  the 
Ponette  was  wholly  quelled ;  and  by  seven 
o'clock  we  were  on  the  road.  We  started  at 
this  untoward  hour  partly  because  we  ex- 
pected to  drive  far  that  day,  and  partly  be- 
cause the  Ponette's  physician  in  ordinary  had 
warned  us  against  pushing  her  at  too  great  a 
speed.  Little  did  this  man  know  about  her, 
or  never  would  he  have  coupled  her  name 
with  so  vivacious  a  word  !  His  counsel  was 
delivered  in  her  j^resence,  and  she  ver)-  obvi- 
ously made  a  note  of  it  for  her  own  j)urp()ses. 
That  da\-  sIk;  outdid  licrsclf  in  protligic^s  of 
laziness,  and   whencner   1    \enturc(|    mildly   to 


114  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

remonstrate  with  her,  she  would  give  a  warn- 
ing quiver  to  her  fat  flanks  which  thrilled  us 
with  alarm.  She  was  dull,  the  Ponette,  but 
not  stupid — oh,  no! 

Although  the  landscape  may  be  said  to 
have  clung  to  our  chariot  wheels  with  an  af- 
fectionate persistence,  we  did  actually  advance. 
By  nine  o'clock  we  were  in  Cavaillon  —  a 
bowery  little  town,  famous  in  all  this  part  of 
France  for  its  melons.  The  elder  Dumas  made 
a  solemn  gift  of  his  collected  works  to  the 
municipality  of  Cavaillon,  on  the  express  con- 
dition that  every  year  he  should  receive  a 
tribute  of  its  melons  ;  which  tribute  —  it  was  a 
good  business  transaction  for  the  novelist,  for 
in  Paris  the  melons  of  Cavaillon  are  fruit  of 
price — was  paid  regularly  until  the  contract 
was  liquidated  by  his  death.  By  ten  o'clock 
we  had  crossed  the  Durance ;  and  a  little 
before  noon  we  gently  edged  our  way  into 
Saint-Remy — when  the  Ponette,  being  of  a 
gluttonous  habit,  suddenly  snuffed  at  possi- 
bilities of  breakfast,  and  brought  us  almost  at 
a  trot  into  the  7^einise  of  the  Hotel  du  Cheval 
Blanc. 

It  is  a  delightful  old  tavern,  this :  with 
narrow  stairways  of  stone,  crooked  passages 


AX    EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  115 

of  various  levels  laid  in  tiles,  tile-paved  cham- 
bers with  ancient  heavy  furniture,  the  lower 
rooms  vaulted,  the  dining'- room  fairly  extend- 
ing out  into  the  open  air  under  a  vine-clad 
arbor,  and  beyond  the  arbor  an  acre  or  more 
of  tang-led  garden  in  which  grow  all  together 
fruit-trees  and  shade-trees  and  shrubbery  and 
vegetables  and  flowers.  A  beautiful  woman, 
in  the  beautiful  dress  of  Aries,  received  us  with 
tlie  most  cordial  of  smiles.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  been  waiting  long  for  our  coming, 
and  was  joyful  because  at  last  we  had  arrived. 
And  she  backed  in  a  practical  fashion  her  dis- 
play of  hospitalit)-  b)-  giving  us  a  breakfast  fit 
for  the  Lords  of  Baux. 

Most  gentle  is  the  business  carried  on  by 
the  people  of  Saint-Remy:  the  raising  of 
flowers  and  the  sale  of  their  seed.  All  around 
the  town  are  fields  of  flowers  ;  and  theflowers 
are  suffered  to  grow  to  full  maturity,  and  then 
to  die  their  own  sweet  death,  to  the  end  that 
their  seed  may  be  garnered  and  sold  abroad. 
Everywhere  delicate  odors  floated  about  us  in 
the  air;  and,  although  our  coming  was  in 
August,  bright  colors  still  mingled  (;\er)- 
where  with  the  green  of  leaves  and  grass. 
Insensibl)-,  their  gracious  manner  of  earning 


n6  AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

a  livelihood  has  reacted  upon  the  people 
themselves:  the  folk  of  Saint -Remy  are  no- 
table for  their  gentleness  and  kindliness  even 
among-  their  gentle  and  kindly  fellows  of 
Provence.  We  understood  better  Roumanille's 
beautiful  nature  when  we  thus  came  to  know 
the  town  of  Qrardens  wherein  he  was  born, 
and  we  also  appreciated  more  keenly  the 
verse — in  his  exquisite  little  poem  to  his 
mother — in  which  he  chronicles  his  birth: 

In  a  farm-house  hidden  in  the  midst  of  apple-trees, 
On  a  beautiful  morning  in  harvest-time, 

I  was  bom  to  a  gardener  and  a  gardener's  wife 
In  the  gardens  of  Saint -Remy. 

In  Saint -Remy  was  born,  and  now  dwells 
(though  we  were  not  so  fortunate,  on  this 
occasion,  as  to  encounter  him),  still  another 
poet :  Monsieur  Marius  Girard,  Syndic  des 
Felibres  de  Provence,  Felibre  majoral,  Maitre 
en  Gai-savoir,  Chevalier  of  the  Order  of 
Charles  III.  of  Spain  —  who  especially  is  the 
laureate  of  the  mountains  near  which  he  lives. 
Into  his  "Lis  Aupiho  "  he  has  gathered  the 
many  strange  legends  of  the  Alpines,  and  has 
enhanced  the  value  of  his  poetry  by  his 
scholarly  researches  into  the  curious   history 


AN   EiMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  117 

and  sociology  of  this  isolated  mountain- 
range  :  and  so  has  won  deservedly  the  crown 
of  the  floral  games  at  Apt  and  the  olive- 
branch  of  the  Academy  of  Beziers.  And, 
finally,  in  Saint -Remy  lives  the  present  queen 
of  the  Felibres,  Mademoiselle  Girard,  who 
was  chosen  to  her  high  office  at  the  sep- 
tennial festival  held  at  Les  Baux  in  August, 
1892. 

But  the  wonder  is  not  that  two  poets  and 
a  queen  of  poets  have  been  born  in  Saint- 
Remy.  Rather  is  it  that  the  ordinary  speech 
of  every  one  born  in  this  delicately  delectable 
little  town  is  not  pure  iambics ;  that  there 
should  not  be  poetry  in  every  mouth  (as  at 
Abdera),  "like  the  natural  notes  of  some 
sweet  melody  which  drops  from  it  whether  it 
will  or  no." 


VII 


Ix  the  earl)-  afternoon  we  went  onward,  b)- 
a  road  that  led  up  a  mountain  pass  into  the 
ver\-  heart  of  the  Alpines,  to  Les  Baux.  A 
red-nosed  man  gave  us  the  doubtful  benefit 
of  his  comi>an\'  during  our  cxiiloralioii  ol  the 


Ii8  AN   EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE 

ruined  castle  and  the  partly  ruined  town.  It 
was  his  custom  to  act  as  a  guide,  he  said;  and 
he  seemed  to  think  that  this  exposition  of  his 
own  habits,  without  regard  to  what  our  habits 
in  the  matter  of  guides  might  be,  was  amply 
sufficient  in  the  premises.  But  in  his  whole 
vinous  body  there  was  not  an  atom  of  useful- 
ness, either  as  a  guide  or  as  anything  else  ; 
and  his  meager  soul — injudiciously  preserved 
in  alcohol — was  quite  in  keeping  with  its 
useless  carnal  environment. 

There  was  no  need  for  a  guide.  The  ruins 
spoke  for  themselves — a  wreck  so  total,  so 
wild,  so  harsh,  that  upon  it  seemed  to  have 
fallen  relentlessly  the  withering  wrath  of 
God.  The  few  poverty-stricken  souls,  quarry- 
men  and  their  ragged  families,  who  found 
shelter  in  what  remained  of  the  houses, 
seemed  to  be  crushed  down  under  the  same 
general  curse.  The  red-nosed  man  officiously 
led  us  to  a  sheer  cliff,  a  fall  of  a  hundred  feet 
or  more,  over  which  a  woman  but  recently 
had  cast  herself,  he  said,  because  she  was  so 
miserably  poor  and  her  life  was  so  bitter  and 
so  hard.  Beholding  the  dreary  ruins  amidst 
which  this  sorrowful  creature's  home  had 
been,  and  hearing  told  with  a  rasping  minute- 


AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENXE  119 

ness  the  details  of  her  broken-hearted  Hfe,  we 
did  not  wonder  that  in  a  crisis  of  heroic 
cowardice  she  had  leaped  out  from  the  dark 
certainties  of  that  height  and  of  linie  toge- 
ther into  the  luringly  bright  uncertainties  of 
Eternity. 

It  added  to  the  desolateness  of  the  wreck  of 
castle  and  town  that  this  red-nosed  abomina- 
tion should  be.  as  he  seemed  to  be,  the  most 
prominent  citizen  of  the  ruin  of  all  over  which 
the  Lords  of  Baux  had  reigned  —  glorying  in 
their  descent  in  a  right  line  from  the  young- 
est and  the  bravest  of  the  Magi ;  bearing  for 
their  device  the  sixteen-rayed  star  of  Beth- 
lehem ;  and  upholding  valianth'  through  the 
centuries  their  war-cry:  "  Au  hazard,  Bal- 
thazar !  " 

Even  on  that  mountain  height  the  da)-  was 
wanincf  when  at  last  we  turned  to  cro.  We 
came  back  to  the  wretched  inn,  and  there 
waited  until  the  boy  into  whose  charge  1  had 
given  the  Ponette  should  harness  her  again. 
It  was  an  unwise  consideration  for  the  comfort 
of  the  Ponette  that  had  led  me  to  order  the 
harness  taken  off —  as  I  jjerceived  when  that 
utterl\- incompetent  bo)-  attemi)ted  to  rejjlace  it. 
E\en  the  stolid  little  mare  seemed  to  smile  at 


120  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

him  as  she  turned  her  head  and  contemplated 
his  misdoings ;  and  the  quarrymen,  standing 
about  the  doors  of  the  biivette  and  the  worse 
for  their  evening  drams,  openly  laughed. 
The  red-nosed  man  officiously  tried  to  help, 
and  only  got  the  harness  more  tangled.  In 
the  end,  I  had  to  shove  them  both  aside  and 
do  the  harnessing  myself —  with  an  inward 
prayer  that  I  might  do  it  well  enough  to  hold 
together  until  we  got  back  to  Saint -Remy. 

We  went  down  the  mountain  road  at  a 
good  trot,  with  the  brakes  set  hard.  The 
road  was  as  smooth  as  French  roads  —  \i2iX- 
rmg  chemins  d' exploitation  —  always  are,  and 
the  descent  was  sharp :  even  the  Ponette 
could  not  refuse  to  trot  with  the  carriage 
fairly  pushing  her  along.  Dusk  was  falling 
on  the  heights,  and  darkness  had  come  by 
the  time  that  we  reached  the  plain.  From  the 
unseen  fields  of  flowers  sweet  scents  were 
borne  to  us ;  sweetest  of  all  being  the  richly 
delicate  odor  from  a  field  of  heliotrope  close 
beside  us,  but  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the 
night. 

Our  dinner  at  the  Cheval  Blanc  was  served 
to  us  at  a  small  table  in  the  arbor — lio-hted 
by  lamps  hung  from  the  lattice  —  close  beside 


AX    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  121 

the  vine-covered  arch\va\-  that  opened  upon 
the  dark  garden  beyond.  At  another  small 
table  three  elderly  men  were  dining,  who 
bowed  to  us  gravely  as  we  took  our  seats, 
but  who  were  sufficiently  remote  from  us  to 
make  an  attempt  at  general  conversation 
unnecessary.  To  one  of  them  —  a  pleasant- 
looking  old  boy,  with  a  mahogany  face  that 
testified  to  an  outdoor  habit  of  life  and  to  a 
liking  for  honest  red  wine  —  we  e\identl\- 
were  objects  of  interest.  We  caught  him 
shooting  sidelong  looks  at  us,  and  he  evi- 
dently was  keeping  his  ears  wide  open  to  our 
English  talk.  They  finished  their  dinner 
before  we  had  finished  ours,  and  again  we 
interchanged  bows  as  they  rose  to  leave.  But 
our  mahogany-faced  gentleman  was  not  quite 
done  with  us.  In  the  doorway  he  paused  for 
a  moment,  as  though  steadying  himself  for 
some  venturesome  deed.  Then,  with  another 
bow,  he  said  with  a  sharj)  abruptness:  "Good 
night  " —  and  instantly  disappeared  ! 

It  was  most  startling  to  have  this  scrap  of 
English  fired  at  us,  at  point-blank  range,  with 
the  unexpectedness  of  a  tliunderbolt  out  of  a 
clear  sk)-.  ()b\iousl\-,  however,  the  effect  of 
his   deliverance   was   most  severe   upon   him- 


122  AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE 

self — the  recoil  incident  to  his  linofual  ex- 
plosion  carrying  him  clear  out  of  our  sight. 
Doubtless  his  digestion  that  night  was  the 
worse  for  his  violent  tampering  with  a  foreign 
tongue.  And  did  we,  in  that  single  lurid 
gleam  of  speech,  get  the  benefit  of  his  entire 
English  vocabulary  ?     We  never  knew  ! 

Bearing  in  her  hands  our  two  candles,  our 
beautiful  hostess  piloted  us  to  our  bed-cham- 
ber—  up  the  narrow  worn  stone  stairway, 
along  the  narrow  crooked  passages  broken  by 
incidental  flights  of  steps,  and  so  to  the  large 
tile-paved  room  whereof  the  mahogany  furni- 
ture had  grown  black  with  age,  and  where 
everything  was  exquisitely  clean.  The  bed- 
linen  had  a  faint  smell  of  lavender,  and  the 
beds  were  comfortable  to  a  degree.  As  I 
sank  away  into  sleep  I  was  aware  of  the 
delicate,  delicious  odor  of  flowers  swept  in 
through  the  open  window  by  the  soft  night 
wind. 


VIII 


All    Saint -Remy   was    astir  —  't   was    the 
Feast  of  the  Assumption  —  as  we  left  it  the 


AX    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  123 

next  day.  The  shady  Place  d'Armes  was 
crowded  with  men  in  blouses,  who  ate  melons, 
and  smoked  short  pipes,  and  all  the  while 
talked  so  vigorously  that  there  was  a  buzzing 
in  the  air  as  though  of  bees.  The  women  — 
beautiful  with  a  stately  beauty,  and  wearing 
the  beautiful  dress  of  Aries  —  were  clustered 
in  front  of  the  church,  wherein  they  attended 
to  their  religious  duties  in  relays,  and  added 
to  the  buzzing  a  sharper  note  with  the  simul- 
taneous going  of  all  their  tongues.  Every 
moment  the  two  gatherings  were  enlarged  by 
new  recruits  come  in  from  the  outlying  farms: 
affluent  country-folk  in  high  two-wheeled 
carts  drawn  b)-  round  little  horses  of  the 
Camargue.  or  less  affluent  country-folk  who 
came  joyfully  to  the  feast  on  the  two  legs 
which   God  had  given  them. 

Only  our  strong  sense  of  duty  as  Ambassa- 
dors enabled  us  to  fetch  away  from  Saint- 
Remv  and  the  glad  company  assembled  there 
and  to  go  onward  to  Salon.  As  we  drove  off 
through  the  flower- fields,  and  then  through 
vineyards  and  olive-orchards  and  plantations 
of  almond  trees,  the  feast  still  was  ])resent 
with  us  in  the  persons  of  those  whom  we  met 
going    to    it.    all    gallant    in    their     least-da)' 


124  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

clothes.  Toward  the  end  of  our  journey  we 
met  other  hohday  folk  returning  from  Salon  ; 
and  then  our  hearts  were  comforted  for  the 
loss  of  Saint -Remy  by  our  delight  in  this 
bravely  castellated  little  city  set  sturdily  upon 
its  hill. 

Our  credentials  to  the  dean  of  the  Felibres 
were  as  slight  as  ever  an  embassy  carried. 
"  He  lives  beside  the  fountain,"  said  Rouma- 
nille.  "Tell  him  that  you  come  from  me." 
That  was  all !  But  we  knew  that  it  was  suffi- 
cient. Doubts  as  to  our  calling  we  never  had 
entertained ;  and  the  welcome  that  had  been 
given  us  at  Avignon  had  convinced  us  that 
our  election  was  altogether  sure. 

We  had  ample  time  to  present  ourselves  to 
Monsieur  Crousillat  before  dinner —  it  was 
but  half  after  five  when  our  establishment  at 
the  very  comfortable  Hotel  des  Negociants 
was  completed,  and  the  days  still  were  long. 
When  we  asked  for  information  in  regard 
to  the  whereabouts  of  Monsieur  Crousillat's 
home,  'Toinette,  the  daughter  of  the  house — 
plump  as  a  little  partridge  and  beaming  with 
smiles — instandy  offered  to  be  our  guide. 
"It  is  but  a  step,"  she  said.  "  You  turn  the 
corner  and  you  are  upon  the  boulevard — in  a 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVENCE  125 

moment  you  come  to  the  fountain  and  the 
Place  d'Aubes.  But  were  it  a  oreat  deal 
farther."  she  added  earnestly,  "  1  should  have 
the  most  of  pleasure  in  showing'  m'sieu'- 
madame  the  way.  "  vShe  was  the  kindest- 
hearted  little  creature  in  the  world,  this  oood 
'Toinette.  The  next  day  she  went  with  us  to 
the  church  in  wliich  Nostradamus  lies  bur- 
ied, where  we  encountered  a  crust)-  sacristan 
whose  stock  of  merchantal)le  civility  was  sold 
in  small  portions  at  the  rate  of  fifty  centimes 
each.  The  rate  struck  me  as  low;  but  'Toi- 
nette, witnessino-  the  purchase  of  that  which 
by  her  creed  should  be  g-iven  freely,  was 
sincerel)-  shocked.  "To  think,"  she  said, 
"  of  being-  paid  for  politeness  !  That  is  not 
the  way  in  our  town."  And  presently  she 
repeated:  "  Xo,  that  is  not  the  wa)-  in  our 
town  at  all !  " 

"Toinette's  courtesy  was  as  delicately  dis- 
criminating as  it  was  cordial.  When  she  had 
led  us  nearly  to  Monsieur  Crousillat's  door 
she  left  us — "because  m'sieu'-madame  doubt- 
less wish  to  make  this  visit  alone,"  she  said. 
She  could  not  ha\-e  exhibited  a  nicer  con- 
sideration had  she  been  the  ver)'  fmest  lady 
in  the  land. 


126  AN    EMBASSY    TO   PROVENCE 

We  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  poet's 
house,  but  there  was  no  reply ;  nor  was 
there  when  we  knocked  acrain.  Our  third 
knock  brought  out  from  a  shoe-shop  in  the 
adjoining  house  a  pleasant-faced  young  girl, 
who  informed  us  that  no  one  was  at  home 
just  then,  and  advised  us  to  return  at  six 
o'clock  —  when  we  would  be  sure  to  find 
some  one,  because  that  was  the  hour  at 
which  the  family  supped.  It  was  with  the 
utmost  good-heartedness  that  she  spoke, 
and  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  the  suc- 
cess of  our  visit  was  a  matter  of  serious 
concern. 

There  is  not  anywhere  a  more  delightful 
town  than  Salon  in  which  to  ramble  in  the 
quiet  time  of  sunset.  All  the  center  of  it — 
the  part  lying  about  the  castle,  within  what 
were  the  limits  of  the  ancient  walls  —  is  a 
tangle  of  narrow  crooked  streets,  which  give 
fresh  combinations  of  picturesqueness  at  every 
turn  ;  outside  of  this  tightly  compressed  area, 
occupying  the  site  of  walls  and  moat,  is  a 
broad  boulevard  shaded  by  double  lines  of 
trees ;  and  beyond  the  boulevard  are  houses 
set  more  openly,  between  which  are  far  views 
out  over  the  vast  level  of  the  Crau,  or  across 


AN    EMBASSY    TO    PROVEN'CE  127 

• 

vineyards    and   olive-orchards    to   the    distant 

hills' 

So  charming-  was  it  all  that  the  hour  was 
nearer  half  after  six  than  six  when  we  re- 
turned to  Monsieur  Crousillat's  door.  The 
pleasant-faced  young  girl  was  on  the  look- 
out for  us,  and  with  her  was  her  pleasant- 
faced  mother.  The  mother  becrsfed  that  we 
would  not  knock  —  "because  M'sieu'  An- 
toine  is  at  his  supper,  and  it  is  not  well,  as 
madame  no  doubt  knows,  to  interrupt  old 
people  at  their  meals."  And  then  she  added 
with  a  frank  friendliness:  "Perhaps  ma- 
dame and  m'sieu'  will  ha\e  the  goodness  to 
seat  themselves  in  my  shop  and  wait  for  just 
a  very  little  while ;  it  certainh'  will  not  be 
long-." 

The)-  made  us  as  welcome  as  though  we 
had  been  old  friends,  yet  kept  in  view  the  fact 
that  we  were  distinguished  strangers,  and 
preened  their  feathers  —  while  cooing-  per- 
functory dissent  —  as  our  magnificences  were 
pleased  to  express  an  obviousl)-  sincere  ad- 
miration for  their  town.  Then  a  neighbor 
dropped  in,  and  took  a  livel)-  i)art  in  our  dish 
of  friendly  talk;  and  so,  f(^r  half  an  hour,  we 
all   chatted  awa\-   toc^ether  as  comforlabK'   as 


128  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

though  we  had  known  one  another  through 
the  whole  of  our  respective  Hves. 


IX 


When,  at  last,  we  despatched  the  young  girl 
upon  a  reconnoissance.  Monsieur  Crousillat 
returned  with  her — in  a  fine  state  of  perturba- 
tion because  we  had  been  kept  waiting  for  so 
long  a  while.  He  was  a  most  sprightly  old 
gentleman,  with  a  fresh  complexion  decidedly 
at  odds  with  his  full  white  beard,  and  carried 
jauntily  his  five-and-seventy  years.  In  his 
eagerness  to  make  amends  for  our  waiting,  he 
scarce  gave  us  time  to  say  good  night  to  our 
obliging  friends  of  the  shoe-shop :  in  a  mo- 
ment we  were  whisked  out  of  it  and  into  his 
own  home.  And  his  cordiality  was  of  a  sort 
that  manifested  itself  in  deeds  as  well  as  in 
words :  with  what  an  amiable  energy  did  he 
lead  us  first  to  the  house  of  Nostradamus, 
and  thereafter  about  the  town,  expound- 
ing to  us  its  history  and  its  traditions,  on 
the    ensuing   day  ! 

Just  within  the  doorway  his  sister  was  wait- 


AN   EMBASSY   TO    PROVENCE  129 

ing  to  welcome  us — a  gracious  little  white- 
haired  lady,  with  a  lively  yet  gentle  manner, 
and  with  the  freshness  of  youth  still  lingering 
upon  her  sweet  old  face.  With  her  was  their 
elder  brother,  to  whom  we  were  presented 
with  a  certain  amount  of  ceremony :  a  vigor- 
ous young  gentleman  of  eighty-five.  There 
was  a  becoming  touch  of  gravity  in  his  man- 
ner;  but  this  seemed  to  be  due  to  his  respon- 
sible position  as  head  of  the  family  rather  than 
to  his  years.  It  was  the  most  charmingly 
quaint  household  that  can  be  imagined — 
where  the  perpetual  youth  of  sweet  and  gen- 
tle natures  had  held  a  gallant  guard  upon  the 
threshold  ajjainst  the  assaults  of  ao^e.  The 
most  delicate  touches  of  all  were  shown  in  the 
affectionate  deference  of  the  cadet  and  the 
young  sister  toward  the  head  of  their  house ; 
and  in  the  loving  pride  with  which  the  poet 
was  regarded  by  his  kinsfolk  —  this  poet  who 
was  their  very  own,  united  to  them  by  the 
closest  ties  of  blood,  yet  who  was  on  terms 
with  the  Muses  and  had  won  for  himself  the 
recognized  right  to  fetch  honey  freely  from 
Hymettus   Hill. 

The  poetry  of  Monsieur  Crousillat  is  graver 
in  tone  than  is  that  of  the  majority  of  his  fel- 
9 


I30  AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

low  Felibres.  In  the  preface  to  his  collection 
of  "  Noels"  —  which  work  he  did  the  Ambas- 
sadress the  honor  to  present  to  her — he  has 
written  :  "  The  main  object  of  all  poets  being 
to  instruct  as  well  as  to  please,  I  have,  from 
love  of  truth,  though  not  forgetting  that  poe- 
try is  tinged  with  fiction,  imposed  upon  my- 
self the  duty  of  avoiding  a  little  what  is  legend 
alone  and  what  belongs  entirely  to  theology. 
And  I  have  endeavored  within  the  limits  of 
my  power  to  make  each  of  my  noels  teach, 
as  fables  teach,  a  moral  lesson."  Yet  is  there 
a  strain  of  exceeding  tenderness  in  his  grave 
verse,  and  a  naive  simplicity  which  gives  it  a 
touching  and  peculiar  charm. 

He  is  a  master  of  many  tongues,  this  oldest 
of  the  poets  of  Provence :  uniting  with  the 
two  languages  which  are  his  birthright  a 
knowledge  of  Italian,  gained  in  the  course  of 
an  enchanting  journey  into  Italy  in  the  time 
of  his  youth  ;  an  elegant  Latinity,  that  finds 
expression  in  highly  finished  verse ;  and  a 
reading  command  of  English.  Two  English 
poets  are  especially  dear  to  him :  Milton  and 
Dryden.  With  the  first  of  these  his  own  ut- 
terances, though  less  grandiose  and  more 
humane,  have  something  in  common ;   and  it 


AN    EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE  131 

is  easy  to  perceive  how  the  verse  of  Dryden  — 
flowing-,  melodious,  sonorous — commends  it- 
self to  one  whose  own  rich  language  especially 
is  suited  to  the  composition  of  poetry  in  which 
precisely  these  qualities  are  found. 

For  the  lack  of  opportunity  to  train  his  ear 
to  its  sound,  Monsieur  Crousillat  could  not 
understand  spoken  English  ;  nor  did  he  ven- 
ture to  speak  it.  He  could  write  it,  he  said ; 
and  even  had  carried  on  an  English  corre- 
spondence with  a  cousin  living  in  our  own 
country,  in  Philadelphia — the  daughter  of  a 
refugee  from  France  in  '89.  Once  she  had 
come  to  Salon,  this  kinswoman,  and  had  paid 
them  a  visit.  But  that,  he  added  slowly,  was 
a  long,  long  while  ago  —  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury. After  her  return  to  America  their 
letters  had  sped  back  and  forth  briskly  for  a 
time ;  but  as  they  had  grown  old  the  letter- 
writing  had  languished ;  and  at  last  it  had 
ended — when  she  died. 

There  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  suggestion  of 
the  delicate  perfume  of  ashes-of-roses  about 
this  episode  of  the  American  correspondence 
that  had  withered  and  perished  so  long  ago. 
Later,  I  discovered  that  this  was  a  case  in 
whicli  my  fancy  had  led  me  astray  ;   yet  am 


132  AN   EMBASSY   TO   PROVENCE 

I  entirely  confident  that  the  welcome  given 
by  the  dean  of  the  Felibres  to  the  Embassy 
was  the  warmer  because  America  was  the 
country  whence  it  came. 

With  this  visit  of  respect  to  Monsieur 
Crousillat — that  changed,  without  our  taking 
thought  about  it,  into  a  visit  of  affection — the 
stately  formalities  of  our  mission  were  at  an 
end.  As  an  Embassy  we  had  presented  our- 
selves to  the  Capoulie,  and  to  the  Senior 
Poet,  of  the  Felibrige ;  our  credentials  had 
been  approved  by  these  high  functionaries, 
and  ourselves  had  been  accepted  as  personce 
gratcB.  For  the  remainder  of  our  stay  near 
the  Court  of  this  Poetic  Power  we  were  en- 
titled, as  recognized  Ambassadors,  to  receive 
from  all  its  subjects  —  and,  verily,  we  did 
receive  —  that  cordial  consideration  which  in 
such  cases  the  comity  of  nations  prescribes. 


f/v.vp 


/ 


AA      000  253  740    d 


